Stay
by CathQueen
Summary: Picking up on season 1, "Inquisition". After their emotional exchange, Catherine and Henry are left with their conflicting emotions for one another. My Version of what I wish had happened... Warning: Cathry all the way! But other characters are mentioned or will appear eventually... (so far: Bash, Beatrice, Diane, Francis, Kenna, Mary, Richard) - Chapter 10 added.
1. Chapter 1

_So here we are, my first Reign story and season 1 is what I dive back into. When exactly, you ask? Well: King Henry wanted to get rid of his wife and as it turned out, he still kinda liked her. "Let your hair down. Let me look at you." Cathry fans know what I'm referring to here and quite honestly, who else doesn't?!_

 _So this is where I take over with my story. Henry has smooched Caherine senseless and we see him lying in his bed..._

 _Characters not mine and all that jazz - some fluff, some steam, some angst._ _Comments always welcome - ENJOY! :)_

* * *

 **Stay**

King Henry was sitting upright in his bed, his head was pounding. The world around him was in a blur. Only moments ago, he had his heart set on decapitating his estranged wife and now she was lying next to him as nature had created her, beautiful, her skin soft and glowing in the privacy of his dimlit chambers.

It would soon be an open secret that the King had bedded his Queen, after all, he had insisted on keeping her guarded around the clock. And the guards he had picked were honest to him and loyal, but even they must've heard her voice as he'd remembered where she liked to be touched.

Henry sighed, his chest heavy from confusion and pain. It had felt so right kissing her, her hair let down for him upon request. So much pain they had gone through and she was still taking his breath away as soon as her hair touched her shoulders and framed her face, accentuating her beauty.

He was lying still for a while, inhaled her scent, enjoyed her slowing breath tickling his naked skin. Her eyes were closed, the lines on her face softened, her smile absentminded, dreamy. It had been years since she had last lied in his arms like this, had shared his bed and made him lose his head. She had that way about her once she let him glimpse inside her heart. She kept it guarded so well, from him and everybody else except Francis but he was too young to understand what she was telling him. So those moments of the real Catherine, her emotions raw and untamed, were a rare treat and he could very well spend days in bed with her if only she would keep being herself around him and not put on that Medici mask of sass and grace. If she remained the girl he had married, sure of herself and yet unset in her ways.

How much he would love her to keep him company now and not slip away to return to their accustomed distance, their disdain and hurt. And hurt it was, that much he had seen in her eyes and heard in her voice as he had accused her of having pushed him away. If only he had known that his affair with Diane would affect his wife so deeply, that the ways he had learned from his father would damage what he had once wanted to find with the woman he had loved from the moment she had entered his bed as his bride, unashamed and yet not unabashed.

"Don't go," Henry whispered as he felt his wife move beside him, readying herself to escape from his bed, but his voice was lost inside his head. So he endured the cold her absence caused him and allowed himself to watch her getting dressed. In slow motion he observed how she transformed herself from his loving Queen to Catherine de Medici, a woman always in control of her emotions, at least around him.

"Stay with me," the King heard his own voice state out loud. The surprise on her face reassured him: she hadn't used him for her benefit, for her survival, she meant what she had whispered onto his skin only moments ago. She loved him. Still.

Caught between confusion and surprise, Catherine stood before her husband's bed, his eyes emotional, raw and strangely intimidating. Only half dressed, his plea left her fragile and naked. What did he want? Another round in his bed to calm his conscious, his qualms? Her eyes met his. _No_ , Catherine gasped. His eyes gave him away: he wanted her to stay.

"Come back to bed," her husband added, his soul exposed to her in his piercing gaze.

Catherine took a deep breath, her heart pounding so loud it almost left her deaf. "I'll be late to my own beheading," she dared to make him smile.

"You already lost your head to me, my Queen. And the way you did is much to my preference."

Warm shivers ran down Catherine's spine. How she loved when his voice dropped two levels, drawing her in like that, his eyes bewitching her, taking control. She was unable to withdraw, unable to resist what she saw reflected in his eyes, in his darkened pair of brown: her love for him rekindled, irrational, matured. So bit by bit, she shed her clothes for him again, unwilling to escape the fire his gaze ignited in her, his growing desire.

"You are more beautiful now than the first time we made love," Henry raved. "So much more beautiful."

Catherine laughed, "Is this something your mistresses like to hear?"

"They might want to but they don't," the King's eyes reassured her.

 _How come I believe you now_ , Catherine couldn't help but wonder before she fully surrendered to her desire to be loved by him again after all those years. Accepting his hand stretched out to her with a slight tremble, she lowered herself onto his bed while her heart pounded wildly in her chest, weakening her knees and silencing her tongue. Giving in to a moment of passion was one thing, returning to his bed another. How many times had she lived to regret her weakness for him? How long would it last, their rekindled love?

"Don't push me away again," Henry whispered as if he was reading her mind. "Trust me this time."

And there it was, the word that was so hard for her to accept. Could she trust him now after everything he had said and done? Trust him with her life, her heart?

"I want you, Catherine, I always have."

"Then why did you bring Diane back to court, again and again?" Catherine's voice was brittle, startling Henry to the core.

"Why didn't you tell me how much her presence was hurting you?"

The Queen laughed quietly, a stubborn tear willing itself down her cheek. "Was it really so hard to guess?"

"You befriended my father's mistress," Henry brushed his fingers against her cheek to wipe away the sign of her desperation. "I never thought..."

"I knew the kind of influence Anne had over your father. I was new in court and she was willing to teach me a lot of things. Diane wasn't particularly welcoming and she had no reason to. She was already in your heart when you took me to your bed as your wife."

"Diane will always be a part of my life," Henry kept caressing his wife's cheek, still wet from tears. "But you are the one I have been in love with, Catherine, and despite of what you may think that has never changed."

Catherine's instinct was to mistrust his words but the sincerity in his voice matched the warmth in his eyes – eyes that had looked at her with so much contempt only hours ago and were now filled with so much love.

"Let me show you how much you are loved, my Queen," Henry brushed his thumb over her lips, then moved his hand into her hair to pull her into a lingering kiss. "Lie with me," he whispered against her trembling mouth, then pulled her further towards him.

Skin on skin the lay, entangled underneath his warming covers. Fingers probed and fondled, hands entwined then lost in individual caresses. Catherine moaned ever so lightly, his feathery touch, his kiss… He was right to assume she was losing her head to him.

When his body finally claimed hers, her mind replayed flashes of memories of being with him throughout their marriage. Eight children she had given him, most of them results of his unfaltering passion and her unwavering love. But these memories paled to the way he was treating her now: his touch more patient, his desire matured, running deeper somehow, tender, refined.

"I love you, Catherine," Henry moaned into her ears as his name fell from her lips in a loud ecstatic whisper.

Smiling against her skin, the King pushed her Queen closer to the brink, he relished in her repeated satisfaction. Finding his own moments later, he collapsed into her arms and showered her neck with tender little kisses. "I love your scent after we've made love," Henry raved, then pulled his wife into a passionate kiss. "I will never tire of this."

Still catching her breath, Catherine hummed her approval against his lips while she stroked his back with loving hands. When Henry finally rolled onto the side to find some rest, he pulled her along and wrapped her in a warm embrace. When she drifted off to sleep, he placed a tired kiss onto her hair, then closed his eyes to find some sleep himself.

* * *

When King Henry woke, his wife was still sound asleep in his arms, her face graced with a contented smile. How long since he had last seen her uninhibited like that, he wondered. Or had he ever?

Sadness crawled back into his heart over the dispute they had had, his accusations and unawareness of her love for him after all those years, despite everything. Cold he had called her, unable to love. How could he not have seen that her pain had been like his, born in a series of so many unfortunate events.

"I am here to see the King," a female voice suddenly interrupted his melancholy.

"I am sorry, your Majesty," one of his guards said in a hushed voice. "Lady Kenna is rather persistent on seeing you."

"Send her away," King Henry answered ill-tempered, his voice low enough not to alert his sleeping wife. "I'm in close council with the Queen. No visitors," he ordered clearly. "Only the royal family." He paused, then added quickly, "But not unannounced."

The guard tried hard to suppress a smile.

"And call off the extra guards for Queen of France. There's no need for them now."

"The guard nodded, his eyes going wide at the sound of Kenna's voice suddenly so close-by. "What is taking you so long," the girl almost shouted as she approached the King's bed in long strides. "Don't you know I am granted access to the King's chambers at all times?"

"Not anymore," Henry corrected her sternly. "Your rights have been revoked."

Catching a glimpse of female skin behind the King's bare chest, Kenna pouted visibly, proving a point his wife had long before made, that she was still a child and nothing else. "So, have you brought Diane back after all," she snarled, then stood in mental lockdown as she realized who the King was sharing his bed with. "What's this supposed to mean," she asked confused as two guards already dragged her out of the King's chambers.

"Yes, what is this supposed to mean," a sleep-fogged voice sounded from right next to him.

"No more distractions," Henry answered quietly, then shouted after the intruder and his guards. "And let the court know if you like! Shall they all know the King has reconciled with his wife!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Catherine lay still in his arms, his breath allowing her hair to dance, tickling her neck. She tried to smile and did, for a moment so fleeting it hurt, hurt to realize how vulnerable Henry had made her feel with his announcement of reconciliation. And vulnerability was surely something she did not appreciate. It was useful in others from time to time, but for her this was an unacceptable state of mind. Feeling his strength now was both alluring and intimidating, his arms tender as he held her, yet possessive.

 _What are you doing,_ Catherine asked herself and knew the answer would not please her. Her heart had taken command of her mind the moment her husband had asked permission to look at her. It was a well-known fact that the King of France wasn't the type to ask for permission, not from anyone and most definitely not from her, so his request had both stunned and paralyzed her. The intensity of his emotions dancing in his eyes, the sincerity of his kiss… Catherine took in a sharp breath. How was it possible that his love was suffocating her now that he had admitted to caring for her so deeply? Or was her own heart tightening the noose around her neck?

As Henry mumbled her name in his slumber and pulled her closer, Catherine remembered how often he had come to her in times of trouble to lie with her and calm his mind. How he had rarely asked for her opinion but taken her point of view under advisement only to dismiss it for the advice of someone else. How often he had used her to stitch up his heart from battle, leaving her wounded after he had left her bed again to be with Diane or his latest conquest.

Catherine felt like crying, but that ability had long surpassed her in his presence. Anger had replaced her tears, but now wasn't the time to be angry at Henry. It felt too good being loved by him again, even if that love wouldn't last more than a day.

"What leaves you so restless, my Queen," Henry interrupted her pensiveness with a loving kiss, his hands caressing her hips and belly, arousing her all too easily.

"You," his wife whispered, her face half hidden in her pillow to calm a moan that threatened to escape her throat.

Henry smiled against her neck as his hands insisted on treating her to a dance all of her own. He liked the idea of her thinking about him although she was right there, sharing his bed.

"Please stop," Catherine whimpered, but it was too late. He was already in control and enjoyed every moment of a game he had started playing with her once in a distant past only to perfect with someone else.

"Let me see your face," the King whispered as her arousal progressed, his voice tender and hoarse.

"Henry, please," the Queen arched her back, then pressed herself against his form at full length, unable to stop her body from responding to his expert hands.

Turning her around to finally look into her eyes, Henry halted his hands, uncertain of what to make of her gaze. Her face was blushed, her eyes full of passion and sadness. _What's going on_ , he asked without saying a word and Catherine answered by seeking his embrace. "Please, just hold me," her lips vibrated softly against his skin and the King complied uneasily.

"What is this," he asked after a while, her breathing slowed, her face finally relaxed.

"I don't know, Henry. You tell me," his wife responded truthfully. "A few hours ago you wanted me dead and now you're trying to please me every minute you are awake. I don't understand."

"I am in love with you," the King argued, his own eyes betraying him: he was confused himself.

"So you've said," Catherine whispered, the silence that followed almost choking her.

"You still don't trust me," Henry finally erupted, his voice quiet but hurt.

"What do you expect," his wife resisted to shout back. The warmth of his arms felt too good to let go of just yet. "We've been married so long and you only just now revealed your feelings to me on the dawn of my beheading."

"I admit that was unfortunate timing," the King swallowed the urge to chide her. After all, she was the only woman he had ever known who had the upper hand with him in a fight.

His understatement upset Catherine but made her chuckle just the same. This was the man she loved: unflinching, jocular and ruggedly charming. She despised herself for being so unable to withstand his allure. It wasn't flattery, nor power that drew her to him, after all, when they had married no one had expected Henry to be the King of France. Had they known, they would surely not have taken her into consideration, as his wife and future Queen. But here she was, Catherine de Medici, the rich orphan from Florence whose resilience had rescued the Valois blood line and secured France a strong bond with the Vatican, at least for a while.

"I'm glad to hear you laugh, my Queen," Henry smiled at his wife without curling his mouth. Instead, his eyes sought hers and made her drown. How was she supposed to cope with this weakness for him so deeply nestled in her heart, surpassed only by the love for their beautiful children? "What is going on inside your head," the King tried to probe her gently but only pushed her further away. "Why don't you trust me," he finally added, frustration written all over his face.

"I can't," Catherine whispered, her hair caressing his skin as she tried to hide away from his gaze. "Don't you understand?"

"No," Henry shook his head. "Explain yourself," he demanded, his hand tender as he forced her to look up at him again. But what he saw in her eyes did not please him. She was afraid. No matter how hard she was trying to hide it from him, he could see it shining through, her alertness and hesitation. Beyond the love he finally saw, beyond her passion for him and her frowardness, she feared she could still lose her life at his whim.

"Let me hold you for a while, my Queen," the King finally said, her motives clearer to him now although still nebulous. She wanted to feel safe. So he lay with her in his arms, unable to find the slumber she finally found herself. Not for an hour or two but for the night. Her breathing slow and steady, her skin warm against his. King Henry sighed. How he had missed this, the intimacy only Catherine had ever given him, never Diane, those moments beyond mere play and passion.

 _When had it stopped_ , he wondered. When had she stopped allowing him to come to her bed despite his dedication to the other woman in his life. When had she stopped fighting for his affection? When had she stopped being his wife?

Henry closed his eyes, then suddenly gasped, his chest heavy, his breathing delayed. Henriette and Emone. Catherine had been so elated about the news of her pregnancy with them. A set of twins, she had sensed it right from the start. He had rarely seen his wife as happy as in those months before their difficult delivery which had almost cost her her life. Their sudden death had almost killed her again. He still remembered the sound of her voice howling in pain at the news of their tragic passing and her inability to allow him in. Not that he had tried hard enough to soothe her pain, his own had stung hard enough. But it was then that she had stopped treating him to his conjugal privileges and had closed her bedroom doors to anybody but their children.

Holding her close to him now, Henry had a hard time not to cry out. Cry out to release the pain that was building up inside, all those unfortunate events he knew had shaped their lives and his inability to cope with them. How much of this pain had he blamed on his Queen although so much of it had been caused by himself?

As he allowed his thoughts to wander, memories of Catherine preoccupied his mind. The absence of color on her face when she had still been lying in bed days after giving birth to their twins. The doctor's voice somewhere in the distance, "I don't know if her Majesty will wake again." His heart stopping for a beat: what would he do without his Queen? Six children she had given him, conceived in duty for their country, so it had often seemed. Those newborn babes had been different though, two tokens of love, not from the Queen of France but from his wife.

The King sighed, his memories cutting like daggers now that he finally allowed them in. His promise to Catherine to love her then paired with the misery of seeing her in so much pain. He had felt helpless finding her in bed every day, unconscious even in the first couple of days. "Her Majesty has lost a lot of blood," the doctor had said. "I'm surprised to find her still alive."

Even now, in his memories, Henry's ears were ringing. He couldn't cope with the thought of her leaving him – not then, not now. He was the only one who would decide… The King stopped mid-sentence, the fear in her eyes suddenly made so much sense.

 _What's going on_ , King Henry raged against himself. This wasn't like him to be so absorbed in thought. "What are you doing to me, my Queen," he asked her gently, unwilling to stir her awake, then climbed out of bed to get some distance from her and clear his head.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Catherine woke to the feeling of fresh air stroking her back. Her hands sought his warmth, his presence, but the sheets beside her were empty: the King had left her side again. Catherine refused to open her eyes and inhaled his scent still lingering on her skin, surrounding her in his sheets. She knew this moment would come and yet she had been unable to shield her heart from breaking again. The reality of being married to the King of France was just too unpredictable, even for a woman like her who was more right about most things than wrong.

"I didn't mean to wake you," his voice startled her from across the room.

Opening her eyes, Catherine searched for him in the dark only to find his half-naked body standing by the open window. There he stood, tall and strong, the absence of his crown looking good on him.

"How long have you been standing there in the cold," the Queen asked concerned for her King.

"Long enough to cool my mind," he sounded distant. "The crisp air helps me think."

Catherine shivered. Had he finally reconsidered his decision? Or had this been his plan all along, to gain her trust and steal her heart before he would cut off her head and live happily ever after with Diane, Sebastian in place as Dauphin to wed Mary Queen of Scots?

"There's a lot to think about," Henry continued quietly, increasing the mild panic that was creeping up inside his wife's stomach. "I still remember when we were newly wed. You were so unlike any of the other women my father considered marrying off to me. You could ride a horse better than most of the royal guards and you enjoyed the hunt." He paused. "What happened, Catherine?"

Crawling out of bed, the Queen fumbled for his robe, slipped into it and drew her arms around his torso from behind to share it with him and keep him warm. "You became King," she answered tenderly, her lips brushing against his back.

He responded with a saddened smile, she was right. So much had changed with the death of his brother. So much indeed, he hardly remembered how things had been before the crown of France was in his grasp. "That didn't change my love for you." He knew it was a lie and saw it written on her face as he turned to look at her in his moonlit chambers.

"Oh yes, it did. It changed us both, our situation," Catherine whispered. "I had to provide you with an heir."

"And you did," Henry pulled her closer to his chest and placed a loving kiss onto her hair.

"Eventually," his wife added under her breath, enjoying the silence that followed. "Ten years, Henry," she finally continued. "Ten years without giving you a child, what do you think that does to a Queen?"

"I never once pressured you," the King argued, his voice raspy, not angry. "I didn't care."

Pulling away from him to look him in the eyes, Catherine laughed quietly, "Don't insult me with a romanticized version of our past, my love. Diane had given you a son, what do you think had happened had I stayed barren for the rest of our marriage? I wouldn't be standing here now," she reasoned quietly. "And don't pretend otherwise. The Valois line of succession had to be secured for your survival and mine. But of course," the Queen finally added, "that doesn't matter now, because you have cast aside the son I finally gave you, the Dauphin of France, and all our other children I bore you out of love. And don't tell me you really think that lying with you has been nothing to me but a duty, a mere act of obligation to our country." Her voice was quivering now, her eyes filled with tears of frustration and quiet rage. "I'm sorry, Henry, but I don't remember being with you once without wanting you completely. I loved you from the moment you were gentle with me as your bride. Not that you remembered much of that later, but I adapted to your likes. So what more did you want from me?"

Henry, King of France, didn't speak nor move an inch. He glared at his wife standing before him, unbosoming herself without reservations. Was this what he had wanted, her side of the story, leaving only him to blame? He grumbled and avoided her gaze, then finally said: "You always loved to see me joust, Catherine, I remember that so vividly, as much as cavorting with me afterwards..."

"Yes, Henry," her response was quiet. "I did."

"I want it back, those times we had," Henry whispered, his eyes now begging her to let him in. "I want the passion you once gave me. I remember it now, all those nights you came to my bed wanting me." He pulled her close to him again in a desperate attempt to break down the walls he had seen her pull up again moments ago. "I know you still have it in you, my Queen, that fire of yours." His lips were teasing hers now with a tender nudge. "Just let it burn," his voice vibrated against her mouth. "Let me see you, Catherine, the way you were." His tongue softly parted her lips as he continued, "The way you still are, deep inside."

Unable to withstand his kiss, Catherine pulled her arms around him again and let him carry her back to his bed. _My love_ she had called him, her heart was racing, her mind two steps behind. How good he felt on top of her, exploring her body, reclaiming her as his wife. She closed her eyes. Memories of him washed over her, following the rhythm of his rekindled appetite for their marriage. How often had she walked this path, here in his bed filled with so many memories he shared with other women?

"You are so tense, my Queen," Henry's lips sounded softly against her naked skin. "Just let go."

It sounded so easy and yet… Catherine sighed, then stopped her husband gently with the touch of her shaking hand. "Too many memories," she whispered.

"What can I do," the King surprised her with his answer, never letting go of her completely.

"My chambers," the Queen responded softly, her lips eagerly awaiting another kiss. "No one but us," she added incoherently, but Henry understood what she was saying. "Just you and me."

The kiss that followed was long and gentle, and every bit as tender as Catherine remembered from the first night she had been with her husband under direct scrutiny of King Francis. Henry had noticed her reluctance then, her sudden display of nerves. She had been playful and delighted with him before, but the moment they had entered his bed, she had been scared stiff. His words hadn't soothed her, that everything would be all right, but his kiss had done the trick, the understanding look in his eyes. He had disliked the supervision of his father as much as she, but his kiss had made her forget and allowed her to enjoy her wedding night despite so many unpleasant memories of lustful men.

As Henry's lips now unlocked her heart again, her mind was unwilling to let the truth come to rest inside her head. With every emotion her husband revived in her, a memory flashed before her eyes. Memories of her arrival at French court as a young Duchess from Florence, Caterina de Medici, disliked by the French people but soon to be loved by the French King, her father-in-law, much to the chagrin of her newlywed husband, then the Duke of Orléans. They had been so young at only fourteen and both been so oblivious to what their marriage could have been. A contract Henry had once called their vows, a promise of Italian jewels to his father, jewels by the name of Milan and Padua, amongst many others, lost to him after the death of her despised uncle, Pope Clement VII. Catherine closed her eyes, to indulge in the tender treatment of her husband and to chase away the ghosts from a distant past, a past she secretly hoped to see undone by the rekindled love she now felt in Henry's touch.

"I'll leave you with your thoughts for just a moment, my Queen," the King whispered against her lips, her cheeks, then undressed her gently to reclaim his dressing gown from her body so obviously craving his touch. Drinking in the sight before him, his Queen entranced by his affection, her skin fully blushed, Henry covered her with his sheets to keep her warm, then placed a buss onto her neck so soft it could have been the wind.

Her eyes still closed, Catherine's smile was painful as she felt him slip away. Despite the softness of his linens and his remaining scent, the room was cold the moment she heard the doors being shut behind him. He was gone, leaving her with memories too hard for her to handle in the unfamiliarity of his chambers. And unfamiliar they were, despite the nights she had spent in his bed every now and then to conceive the heirs he so desperately needed as the King of France. Her eyes forced themselves open: how could he not see that it hadn't only been her life she had tried to save by constantly pursuing him but also his? Did he not know how much she wanted him to be the King he had once hoped to be, the kind of monarch who was engulfed and empowered by the love of his family?

Catherine wrapped herself in his sheets and stood by the window, just as her husband had only moments ago. On the floor, her bare feet were looking for the remains of his warmth while her mind was seeking a similar kind of clarity he had found in the brisk morning air that was still coming in through the half-open windows.

"I heard you were still in his chambers, but I had to see it for myself to believe," a familiar voice suddenly sounded from behind her, startling and delighting her just the same. "What has he done to you to keep you chained to his bed for days?" The voice waited for her to turn around to him, then continued softly, "Let me look at your face, Catherine. Has he harmed you that you must keep yourself hidden from my eyes, that devil of a husband of yours? Catherine, please. You have me worried."

"Richard," the Queen merely whispered, her eyes still fixed on the sun slowly coloring the world with brighter shades and warmth outside.

"Catherine," he asked rather than replied. "Please tell me while he's gone. What has he done, what's on his mind?"

"He doesn't suspect anything," she stated quietly. "But he will if I allow you to stay in my company like this. Leave, Richard, while you still can, please. I'm in Henry's favor now, so you can get away. I'm begging you, go, and leave me be."

"What do you mean," Richard tried to close the gap between them, but her reluctance to show him her face kept him at a safe distance. "Catherine, I have always tried to protect you from him. Just tell me what I can do now and I'll..."

"There's nothing you can do," the Queen of France finally turned to seek his eyes. "I am in love with him, Richard. I always have been and you know it." Her voice sounded almost sad.

"He's hurt you so much," his voice broke as he saw the emotions dancing in her eyes, so intense he nearly had to avert his gaze to stand them.

"And so have I," Catherine admitted to her own surprise. "Knowing about you would parch the last drop of tenderness in him. Right now, you are his loyal friend and you are safe. Please, don't make me choose between you and my husband, Richard. I'm not sure I could endure seeing you hurt."

"It's always hurt loving you, Catherine," Richard assured her with the kind of sincerity in his eyes she had always looked for in her husband's. "And I didn't mind as long as I knew you were protected. But right now?" He dared to move a little closer, eager to show her how much she was loved but Catherine withdrew without allowing him to draw her in.

"I can't keep you safe like this," Catherine uttered quietly. "Please, Richard, leave. Leave now, before it's too late."

Looking at the tears that threatened to form in her eyes, Richard stood before her, helpless and angry at his inability to hold her in his arms. "Tell him," he finally said, "Tell him or I will," he added, his voice quiet and controlled. "Tell him how much you loved him and hoped to give him a child. Tell him how I seduced you in a moment of weakness. How I lured you into bed and intoxicated you with my love after he had long left you for his mistress." His eyes bore into her, relentless with love. "Tell him I have always loved you, Catherine. I know you have to let him know if you want to have him back." He paused. "That's what you've always wanted, my darling, isn't it? To finally tell him because keeping this secret from him has always killed you, no matter how often he has humiliated you by parading around with mistresses. You have always loved him, even when he couldn't see it." Richard whispered, "But now he does," and took a deep breath. "Are you sure, Catherine? Are you sure he's worthy of your love?"

"I'm not," she barely responded under her breath, unwilling to look directly into his eyes.

"Then come with me, my darling. Leave him, leave this place behind, this wretched life," Richard begged, now on his knees. "Let me love you like you deserve to be loved."

Losing the fight against her stubborn tears, Catherine stood before her former lover, vulnerable in her husband's chambers, naked in her husband's sheets, emotions raw for him as well as the man standing before her and, for the first time in her life, completely out of wits. After days of near marital perfection, Catherine closed her eyes to the sound of footsteps closing in on her and her most precious secret, her second love and the longing for a life she hadn't been allowed to have as the Queen of France.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Her eyes closed, Catherine stood on solid ground while the world around her seemed to shake. Memories of Richard preoccupied her mind: his comfort, his understanding smile. It had felt so good finding solace in his arms, her heart then freshly scarred by Henry's absence and the loss of a pregnancy so eagerly awaited. The guilt had struck her the moment Richard's lips had parted hers to forget – forget the sorrow of her marriage in shambles, her longing for Florence and her increasing isolation in France. But no matter how much Henry had hurt her eight years into their marriage, Catherine could not do him wrong the same way. It hadn't only been the rules that left queens vulnerable to their kings, but also the devotion to the vows she had taken with a man she had never expected to mean so much to her. But she loved him, then and now.

 _Henry_ , Catherine whispered to herself, afraid of hurting her husband with a secret she had managed to keep locked away for years. Only a week ago she would have just been afraid for her life with the revelation of her infidelity, but after the past few days she feared to lose the love she had always longed to see in her husband's eyes and now finally saw directed at her.

Catherine was unable to move, her mind deadlocked, replaying memories of herself with Henry, in his arms, his bed, jousting with him in the park when they were still so young, enjoying a ride in the woods, holding their newborn babes in the nursery, his eyes gleaming with joy, holding his hand in church, kneeling by his side to take their vows. She gasped, the air in her lungs trapped as the sound of footsteps quickly approached her. Memories of Richard reentered her mind: the love for her so evident in his eyes. Catherine couldn't breathe. A breeze of fresh air touched her skin where Henry had last kissed her and she smiled, just for a moment, her fingers caressing the spot in a futile attempt to hold on to him while her lungs released a painful sigh.

Preparing herself to face her past with as much dignity as was expected from a Medici heir, Catherine wrapped her husband's sheets closer around her freezing body, lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders, then opened her eyes to an unexpected visitor. "Bash," she uttered, unable to mask her surprise.

"Catherine," the Dauphin-in-waiting met her astonishment with a mischievous smile. "I see the talk bears some truth for once. You're still here, in the King's chambers." He eyed Richard with well-trained suspicion. "Under supervision of the King's personal prosecutor. Funny that the King is not around while you're so clearly dressed to entertain him."

"I was surprised by Richard's unannounced visit as much as I am now by yours," the Queen replied quicker than her mind could follow.

"I see we haven't left you tongue-tied for long. For a moment there I wasn't sure what to make of the royal prosecutor kneeling before you but I'm sure you'll be able to explain it all in your usual graceful manner." Bash's eyes gleamed. If he enjoyed to engage in a war of words, his father's wife was surely his favorite opponent.

"He's asked me to run away with him and start over, not as the Queen of France no doubt, but as a woman adored by her lover. You should be thrilled," Catherine returned without hesitation, holding his gaze with Medici perfection. "I'll be out of your mother's hair in no time."

"I admire your sense of humor, Catherine, I always have, especially when you wear a noose around your neck," Bash raved sarcastically.

"Well, thank you, Bash. I'm sure you'll tighten it first chance you get."

"Don't be so sure about it this time," Sebastian surprised the Queen. "Seeing you in favor of the King has put my position as Dauphin in question again and I greatly appreciate that. We both know Francis should be King one day, not me. That's one thing we've always agreed on."

"Have we," Catherine didn't bother hiding her suspicion.

"Don't mistake my mother's aspirations for mine, Catherine," he answered honestly. "And don't expect me to repeat this outside of these chambers, but I would be glad to know the King has really reconciled with you. It would suit you both well."

Uncertain if her husband's bastard son had just willfully insulted her, Catherine laughed. "I'm sure there's more in this for you than just a burden lifted from your shoulders, the burden of having to put your country first and your own desires second." The Queen fixated Bash with an askance look in her eyes but couldn't hold his gaze without being transfixed by his haunting set of blue. "What do you want from me?"

"I know you've shown an interest as of late in a child you think is mine," Bash smiled to himself at her inability to stare him down. "Forget about the child and I'll forget about the obvious display of devotion I just witnessed. No need to get into the details of it really, I'm sure my father wouldn't be interested in those either." His eyes registered the Medici temper rise in the Queen of France, her cheeks slightly blushed from embarrassment or anger, he didn't know.

"You needn't worry," Catherine surprised him by holding his gaze with a cold but graceful smile. "I'll inform the King myself before I let you tell him anything of what you believe to know about me now."

"Don't you think he'd have your head for betraying him like this?" It was Bash now who couldn't hold her piercing gaze.

"We've been there done that recently," the Queen quipped while her knees were trembling in anticipation of her husband's reaction. "And I'd rather face the King with the truth than have you holding me under your thumb with a lie you've created in your mind."

"Is it really a lie, Catherine," Bash returned without flinching this time. "I've come to understand you a little over the years. There are many people you openly despise, my mother included, but you charm them anyway to get what you want. You are less predictable with those you love. If it's in their best interest, you'll go at great lengths to lie to them or pretend they mean nothing to you while everything you do is protect them with your life. I've seen you do it for Francis many times and I see you doing it now."

"You really think you know me so well, don't you," Catherine tried to defend herself but Bash was already pursuing another strategy to get his answers.

"What's your business here in the King's chambers," he directed his frustration about Catherine's stubbornness at the man who was so obviously hovering over her.

"I am here upon request of the King," Richard replied coldly.

"I doubt the King requested you to keep such a close eye on the Queen," Bash returned sternly. "The way you haven't averted your eyes from her since my arrival… What's he really doing here, Catherine?"

"Richard is a close friend of your father's," the Queen began but was interrupted almost immediately.

"Rather looks like he's very close to you," Bash held her gaze and was surprised to detect emotion in her eyes instead of ice. "Is this your revenge for what my father has done to you?"

"Bash, please," Catherine's voice was calm but her eyes were pleading. "You don't understand."

"So the rumors are true," Bash had a hard time suppressing a saddened smile. "Catherine de Medici had a lover other than the King of France! My mother never thought you capable of such deceit but I remember seeing you in church one day, praying on your knees, whispering the names of your children and the ones lost to you. You mentioned a child without a name and prayed for her soul. It was a child born out of love, that's what my mother meant when she said something had happened that changed everything between you and Henry. She didn't connect the dots, but it's all so clear now!" He paused. "You're such a hypocrite, blaming my mother for ruining your marriage while you kept a lover right under your King's nose!"

"Don't you dare," Catherine leaped towards him, her voice stern now with bubbling rage, "Don't you dare compare me with your mother, Bash, and don't you dare judge me! You don't understand half of anything that's happened before you were born or since. So come down from that high horse of yours and look around. What do you see?" Catherine waited for Bash to respond but didn't get anything but a confused shrug. "You see your Queen in her husband's chambers! That's right. This is were I belong and always have! Not your mother, but I, the Queen of France."

"And I agree," Bash baffled them both with his answer. "Don't you see, Catherine, I'm on your side in this! Believe it or not, but I really want to see you back at my father's side so you can screw his head back on and have Francis return to court to bring all this nonsense to an end."

"All this nonsense," Catherine agreed but couldn't help but laugh. "When did it all start," she wondered, then held up her hand to stop Bash from answering a question even she couldn't really answer. "So what do we do now? I let you have your secrets while you let me have mine?"

Bash nodded. "And I think I'm also speaking for Francis when I say, leave Mary be."

"And that's the currency for letting me reunite with my husband," the Queen asked cynically. "You know, the irony is that if you were to become the Dauphin of France, I'd give you my heartfelt blessing to marry the Queen of Scots. But with Francis, things are different."

"Because you don't like to see Francis slipping away from you," Bash tried to sound understanding.

"Protect my secret and some day I might explain it all to you," Catherine gave him her best Medici smile, then tilted her head at the sound of her husband's angry voice.

"What is this," the King shouted. "How dare you disrespect your Queen like this?" Rushing towards her in long strides, Henry wrapped his arms around her shoulders to shield her from the eyes of the two intruders. "What's your business here?"

"We came here to inquire about the gossip that's sounding off the castle walls," Bash replied, unshaken by the King's anger but surprised by the tenderness his father expressed for his wife. The way his fingers brushed gently against her cheeks while his eyes asked if she was all right. The chivalry he showed by wrapping himself around her to keep her warm. "Word has it that you and the Queen have reconciled."

"Indeed we have," the King answered, his voice still angry while his lips smiled at his wife. He was drunk on love, Bash remembered seeing his father like this before but never with his mother, only with his Queen. "What's it to you, do you wish to voice your objection?"

"Not at all, father," Bash didn't even have to lie. "I assume it's off the table then for me to be your heir to the throne of France," he stated rather than asked.

"I already sent for Francis to return to court," the King replied, his back half turned to his visitors, his attention completely on his wife, his words making her smile.

"Very well," Bash averted his gaze from the intimacy displayed before his eyes. As he turned to leave, he saw his father's friend unable to move, his face hardened with pain. _He must really love her_ , Sebastian thought and touched Richard's shoulders to express his sympathy but he didn't even flinch. Witnessing how the King spoiled his Queen with his affection, Richard stood, unable to breathe. Had he ever seen Catherine smile like that?

"Your services aren't needed anymore, my friend. You can leave if you like or stay, whatever suits you best," Henry's voice cut into his misery, filling his heart with hatred. _How could she love a man who had wanted her head_ , Richard's thoughts were racing but he knew the answer, saw it written on her face as Henry pulled her up into his arms and placed a kiss onto her lips that took his breath away.

"Let's go," Bash whispered from behind, then grabbed his arm to drag Richard away.

"There's no need to torture yourself," Sebastian reasoned as he closed the doors to the King's chambers from the outside. "You didn't really expect Catherine to leave the King of France for you," he added in a whisper at the look on Richard's face. "Do you understand what my father would do if he knew?"

Unable to speak, Richard simply nodded, thoughts still racing through his head. He understood, he always had. Loving the Queen of France could cost him his life, but seeing her with Henry now he wondered if death wasn't preferable to knowing she was in love with her husband instead of him.

In the King's chambers, Henry placed his wife on her feet again and smiled. In front of him she stood, her feet bare, his sheets slowly sliding off her shoulders allowing him to caress her. And so he did, with his eyes, his hands, his mouth - his heart was beating fast, his eyes were gleaming with desire. He hadn't felt like this in a long time and he enjoyed every second of it, the seductive smile on her lips, the shimmer in her eyes. He wanted to freeze that moment in time, wanted to keep her like this, for himself, always.

"I have a surprise for you, my Queen," he suddenly announced. "Go throw something on and I'll show you."

"What is it," Catherine asked, her heart elated, her mind wary.

"No questions allowed," the King pulled her towards him, her form completely bare now against his. "And if you don't hurry, I'll carry you to our destination as nature has created you. Let them all know what the King has been doing with his wife. Shall they all see your beauty, that special glow you have after we've made love." He teased her lips with a tender buss, then smiled. "Now hurry up!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Laughter sounded through the halls of French court. Servants turned their heads and engaged in gossip, noblemen and ladies relying on them as sources. Who would be so jolly so early in the morning? Who would risk waking the royal couple, both famous for their short temper and tendency to scorn intruders? And intruders it must be for no one else dared being so frolic near the royal chambers at this hour. No one but the King himself with his mistress du jour, but he was said to have locked himself in with the Queen to discuss "matters of the state". Everybody knew it was a discussion of life and death, after all, the King had wanted her head. Or could it be true, the rumor Lady Kenna had spread, that the King of France had actually reconciled with his wife? Quite possibly not, everyone agreed – only those who saw it with their own eyes believed the rumor born in truth, those who saw the King carrying his Queen in his arms, both still bedwarm and rather frisky.

"Henry," the Queen of France shrieked as her husband carried her through the castle to a destination he still refused to reveal. "I am too heavy for you, let me down," she laughed wholeheartedly, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

"Never," he kissed her playfully, oblivious to the embarrassed servants they passed and the abashed looks that followed them on their way.

"Where are you taking me," Catherine giggled like she was fourteen again, sixteen or twenty. "Henry, people will say we've gone insane."

"Maybe I have," the King laughed and kissed his wife more deeply, stopping for a moment before he rushed on with her down the hallway. "I clearly must have been for letting you slip away from me." He stopped again to kiss her, then opened a door. "Close your eyes, my Queen," he whispered, then entered a room that smelled all too familiar. "Now open them," Henry's lips vibrated against her skin as his arms carefully released her from his grip.

Blinded by the sunlight flooding the room, Catherine needed a moment to adjust her eyes and recognize where she was. "Henry," she gasped. "What have you done?"

"I spared no expense to fill your chambers with everything I know you love," the King said under his breath, the look on his wife's face triggering memories of the early years of their marriage, before he was King and France and she not yet consumed by providing heirs for the house of Valois.

Examining her chambers with teary eyes, Catherine swallowed hard. Why did he think he had to shower her with gifts, didn't he know that his love for her would be enough to reclaim her heart?

"I asked your chefs to prepare your favorite dishes for a luscious breakfast," Henry pointed to the tables surrounding her bed, filled with fruits and sweets and cheese. "And I summoned your dressmakers to provide you with the latest fabrics and designs from Italy. I know you prefer them over Paris." Pressing her back against his chest, he smiled against her cheek and continued, "I also returned all the jewelry I ever gave you and took away again." His hands caressed her belly now, her waist, the tenderness of his touch suggesting he was willing to repent for hurting her like this. "Then I sent out one of your ladies to buy your favorite perfumes and restock your library." His lips brushed against her ear, his arms now fully wrapped around her to provide the warmth to stop her from shaking. "The flowers I picked myself," he added tenderly, then retreated into silence, allowing her to take everything in with a deep breath.

"The roses would have been enough, Henry," Catherine finally uttered, her voice distant somehow, quiet. "And the food," she admitted.

The King grinned. Her passion for food was really something, he couldn't wait to watch her enjoy every single bite. Her face then always lit up, her mouth formed into a sinful smile. In the past he had often wondered if she loved food more than lying with him, but in recent days he had seen a new appetite for him growing in her, so maybe she would be willing to share her breakfast today in a whole new fashion. "Let's eat then," he suggested, releasing her from his embrace, his eyes searching hers.

Walking towards her bed with her back still turned to her husband, the Queen shielded herself from his gaze while desperately trying to ignore the feeling of her throat closing up. She couldn't breathe. Although appreciated, his gesture overwhelmed her completely. The multitude of gifts, the abundance of food, roses in every single corner of her chambers, his desire for her untamed in his touch – it was too much. In more than twenty years of marriage Catherine had seen her husband getting obsessed with mistresses like that but never with her. She had always thought he was obsessed with Diane rather than in love but if he claimed to love her now, his wife, what did this mean? How could she be sure that his affection was not just another act of caprice, another obsession, another one of his fleeting games?

Turning around to face her King, the Queen tried hard not allow him to pierce her soul with eyes so clearly wanting her. So she held out her hand and invited him into her bed with a seductive smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Distracted by the light shining in through the windows turning her hair into reddish gold, Henry rushed towards her and shed his clothes. Her heart racing, Catherine let him undress her fast and relaxed into his touch. Reaching for some berries, she slowed her husband down before he could claim her all too quickly and fed him, one berry at a time. Purring like a contented lion, the King returned the favor and treated her to her favorite cheese and strawberries, a mix that triggered a moan in the back of her throat that reached his core and left him aroused. Pulling her towards him, the King placed one of her berries between his lips and kissed her gently, indulging in the taste of her and the fruit on his tongue.

"You are delicious, my Queen," he raved, then squelched her last attempts to make love to him slowly. Inflaming her skin with hungry hands, Henry was on top of her faster than she could think, ravishing her in blind passion.

Closing her eyes, Catherine indulged in the sound of his moans against her skin, her name falling from his lips like a prayer he had long practiced and finally remembered by heart. Just as she relaxed into his release without finding her own, his fingers sent her over the edge, leaving her panting in his arms, allowing a smile to reach her eyes again and again.

As her breathing slowed, the Queen enjoyed lying in her husband's arms, remorse creeping inside her heart. How could she accept his gesture to start anew in her chambers if the secret of her betrayal still nestled so deeply inside her soul? She sighed, her smile saddened when his lips brushed against the back of her head. She loved him so much, how could she hurt him with the truth? His hands treated her curves to a caress so light, it made her whimper. He loved her so much, she was sure of it now, how could she lie to him if he had so clearly asked her for his trust?

"What are you thinking about that leaves you so tense again, my Queen," the King hummed as he nuzzled her ear. "Are you growing tired of my presence?"

Unable to answer, his Queen tilted her head to meet him for a tender kiss. A day now in her chambers, three more before in his. It felt like a joyous eternity to have him all to herself, no protocol, no getting dressed for anyone but themselves. Catherine dreaded the inevitable, the end of her privacy with him, of their intimacy and his devotion. Maybe it would last another day, if she found the strength to push her sorrows away and keep her truths from him like she always had.

"Then why the concerned face?" The King turned her around in his embrace, entangling his legs with hers. "I thought you preferred being with me here, in your chambers. A new beginning for us without all those ghosts from the past."

Catherine gave him a melancholy smile as his arms tightened their embrace and drew her closer. His heart was beating loudly in his chest, matching hers. _Whatever will I do when you replace me with Diane again,_ the Queen tortured herself, then closed her eyes at the feeling of his hands spoiling her with a tenderness she had become addicted to over the past couple of days. "You will have to return to your chambers eventually," she finally gasped. "And we have to show our faces in court before the rumors get any louder."

"What rumors," Henry asked halfheartedly, his hands too busy roaming about her body again, his lips grazing her hair, her neck.

"Oh, the rumors that I have you under my spell, that I bewitched you with a potion in order to keep my head," Catherine's voice trailed off. "There's more," she barely added, her thoughts too distracted by her husband's expert mouth, her skin still inflamed from their last round of lovemaking.

"More," the King laughed. "What else could you possibly have done to me?" His lips found hers for a lingering kiss that left her unable to respond coherently. Lying in his embrace, the Queen secretly cursed herself for not having enough strength to resist him anymore. "Maybe we should invite the court to see for themselves," Henry teased his wife. "Who's bewitching whom?"

Four days, Catherine thought, and she was back where it had all once begun. She was in his arms, heads over heels in love, and so was he – for now. _Trust me this time_ , his voice echoed in her head.

"How serious were you when you asked me to be honest with you," she suddenly asked.

"All the way," the King smiled against her skin as his lips continued heating her up.

"Well, then I might as well tell you now," his Queen whispered unconvinced. "Or lose my head for good."

"Catherine," the King of France pulled away to look her in the eye. "Whatever is on your mind?"

Uneasy about lying entangled with him the way she did, skin on skin, Catherine pulled herself up and away from him. Sitting up, she covered herself in her blanket and searched his eyes filled with concern for what she might want to reveal to him.

"Whatever it is," Henry tried to reassure her but was stopped by her shaking hand signaling to give her a moment. When she had composed herself, her face was distant like she could be but her eyes were filled with a pain he had rarely seen. "Catherine, enough with the suspense, you are scaring me." He reached out his hand to calm hers. "Whatever could be so bad that you are trembling like this?"

"I never wanted you to find out," Catherine finally started, her voice grief-stricken and small. "And never like this, you have to trust me. But you better hear it from me than someone else." Her voice broke but she continued anyway, "Many years ago, I was unfaithful to you, my love." Tears were flowing down her cheeks as she saw her husband flinch away from her, his eyes growing dark with misery. "I never intended to hurt you, I..."

"When," Henry interrupted her fiercly, his voice filled with a quiet rage that scared her.

"When Bash was born," Catherine replied unhappily and tried to continue explaining, but she was not given the chance.

"You were pregnant then and lost the child soon after," the King shouted under his breath. "Whose child was it if it wasn't mine?" His hands grabbed her wrists now, causing her discomfort. "Did I know him?" She didn't have to give an answer for him to know. "Who bedded my Queen and looked me in the eye? Who, Catherine," he erupted violently. "Who?"

"Richard," the Queen answered meekly and saw the blood drain from her husband's face. "It didn't last long," she added quickly. "I had him sent away but yes, I had an affair with one of your men. Not out of malice or revenge, Henry, I beg you to believe me. I was just so alone after..." Catherine took a deep breath, her wrists burning from her husband's tight grip. "What does it matter now why?"

"It means everything," the King tightened his grip, looking daggers at his wife. "Tell me, Catherine, why?"

Glaring at her husband, the Queen freed her wrists for a moment and tried to get away from him and off the bed, but his hands grabbed her shoulders instead and held her in place, leaving her vulnerable and afraid. Could he really not understand what had driven her into the arms of another man? "Your mistress had given you a child and you left me to be with her," Catherine cried, her anger surpassing his now. "You had me practically replaced! The whole court was waiting for you to annul our marriage, to cast me aside and take my head for something I would never have considered doing until..."

"Until what?" The King squeezed her shoulders so hard now, Catherine knew there would be bruises if she would get out of this alive. "What did it take to convince you to betray your King?"

"A husband who humiliated me in front of an entire nation and a friend who was there to pick up the pieces," the Queen answered calmly, her voice filled with dolor, her eyes with anguish and remorse. "You broke my heart, don't you understand," she tried to shout but her voice broke at the emotions she saw dancing in his eyes, the question he did not dare to ask. "Not in this bed, Henry," she assured him quietly, trying to touch him with shaking hands. "Never in this bed. No one but you and me. I swear to you!"

"Why now," Henry almost pushed her away, then grabbed her again, his fingers now crushing the tender skin on her arms.

"Because I love you," Catherine tried to steady her voice, unsuccessfully.

"You don't know what love is," the King erupted. "Telling me this while you are lying in my arms, still aroused by my touch!"

"You asked me to trust you," it was the Queen now who was enraged. "And now I did, with my life! I never wanted to hurt you, Henry, I tried to protect you from this. But how long until you would've found out now that you've ordered Richard to return to court? Did you really want to hear it from him instead of me?"

"He had no trouble lying to me so far, why would he tell me now?" As his wife averted her gaze, the King pushed her angrily against the top of her bed. "Why would he tell me now, Catherine?" His anger multiplied by the memory of Richard standing in his chambers this morning with her so unseemly dressed. "Did you rekindle your affair with him? Was this what he came to tell me today or did he come to see you, hoping I would stay away long enough for him to ravish you in my bed?"

Glaring at her husband with fiery Medici eyes, Catherine almost spit at him in anger while her voice betrayed her hurt inside. "Do you really think me capable of deceiving you so viciously?"

"I've seen you do many things over the years, Catherine," Henry raged. "Only to survive."

"I've never pretended to love you, Henry, not once! I always did with all my heart!"

"I'm not sure you know what love is," the King repeated himself, regretting his words the moment he had said them. Her eyes gave away the pain his accusation caused her while her face put on the mask he had finally seen her drop for him in his bed in the past four days.

"Says the man who left me for his mistress over and over again," Catherine answered coldly, her teeth clenched while her heart was closing up. "Who vowed to love me and our children and always went away? Love is to be there when you are needed, Henry," she continued, finally freeing herself from his grip. "Love is putting the other first and your own needs second. Love is trust and forgiveness. All nice words when you say them, but spoken alone they mean nothing, Henry!"

"Is that what you want then, what Richard did while I was away? Action over words?" He grabbed her arms again and pulled her towards him with a force she couldn't fight, no matter how hard she tried. "Is that why you bedded him, to get pregnant to get me back and secure your position as the Queen of France? Is that how you took action, Catherine?"

"Henry, stop," the Queen tried to scream but her voice was caught in her throat. His eyes were filled with a primal rage she had seen in him before, his temper and outbursts. She was afraid of him now.

"It's just what you wanted, Catherine, you are my Queen. And as your King I do with you as I please," Henry whispered angrily into her ears while his body claimed hers completely.

"Henry, no," Catherine screamed and pushed him off of her with as much force as she could muster, then stumbled to her feet. Standing in front of her bed, she grabbed her blanket with one hand to cover herself and held up the other to hold him at bay. "I am your wife, not your mistress. You won't push me around as you please. I won't have it!"

Startled by the ferocity in her voice and the pride shining in her eyes, Henry glared at his wife trembling with anger and fear. Unable to process her words and a truth he was unwilling to accept, he cried out his pain and jumped out of bed, grabbed his dressing gown and rushed away, shouting for his guards to arrest Richard de la Croix.

Sitting down on her bed, the Queen of France was shaking, her face wet from tears she cried over their mistakes from the past and the consequences that had haunted her more than once. Unwilling to answer her ladies' questions as they rushed in to see if she needed attendance or comfort, Catherine waved them off. "Wine," she merely said. "Bring me some wine." _A good glass of Burgundy might help erase the pain_ , she thought to herself, well aware from experience that it was just another lie she was telling herself.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Henry rushed down the hallway like a raging bull, far away from his wife's chambers where his feet had taken him so lightly only hours before but now, he couldn't get away fast enough. His feet almost tripped over one another, he was was practically running. Away from Catherine, away from her confession, her betrayal, her love. And love it was, he had seen it in her eyes. After all those years he was finally certain that he had a place in his Queen's heart and now he couldn't bear being by her side although his body was still aching for her skin, her touch. The farther he ran away, the more he longed to be in her bed, to feel her hands caressing his back, to hear his name falling from her lips when she rocked against him, to see her eyes glistening when he gave her satisfaction. But what his heart desired, his head forbade him. She had deceived him in the worst possible way: she had been with another man! Not in her bed, he believed she wouldn't lie to him in that respect, but with another nonetheless. Had felt male hands on her skin other than his, had moaned another name, had kissed a mouth that wasn't his. Had been with child by a man she must've loved and had shed tears about its loss. He remembered that so vividly, the grief that had engulfed her after the death of her baby in childbirth and how elated she had been when Francis had finally been put into her arms, alive and well.

So much loss she had endured over time, so many babes buried and he barely remembered being by her side. Remorse hit him like a slap in the face. How much pain he had caused her by walking away, by simply providing the offspring he knew she wanted but he had needed just the same?

Henry roared and shouted, his pain still so fresh and stinging deeper than he had ever thought his feelings really ran for her. He was finally running now, towards the chambers he knew Richard occupied and hoped the bastard would look him straight in the eye.

"I'll have your head for this," he growled as soon as his guards opened the doors to the Viscount's chambers and there he was, sitting by the window, waiting for his judgement to arrive.

"So Catherine told you," Richard simply said, unshaken by the King's appearance. "I knew she would."

"That's how you choose to address your King," Henry shouted, then waved off his guards to stay outside and await his signal for the arrest.

"She couldn't bear living with the pain of keeping that secret from you anymore.," Richard continued calmly. "I'm sure she has others, but I suppose she just couldn't forget me."

Leaping towards him, Henry tried hard not to strangle Richard with his bare hands. "She is my wife," the King merely screamed. "My Queen!"

"I'm glad you remember that now," the royal prosecutor answered honestly. "Because she really loves you. She always has."

"Don't speak about my wife as if you know her," Henry raged, his face only inches away from the man who had touched his Queen, knew her in ways only her King had a right to.

"But I do," Richard didn't shy away, was not intimidated by his fury. "I know she loves you more than you will ever know. I didn't want to see it for a while, but it's so obvious now that you finally acknowledge her as your wife. And I really hope you do because you've broken her heart so often, I'm not sure it will survive another blow."

Completely losing himself in feelings of agony and wrath, the King grabbed the Viscount by his collar and dragged him away from the window without any clear direction, then simply dropped him in the middle of the room. Towering over him, Henry glared at the man lying before him, resisting the urge to kick and trample him to death. But still Richard did not flinch, did not beg for mercy nor forgiveness, he merely continued, his voice pleading on behalf of his Queen. "I'm probably the last person you want to hear this from now, but give her a chance to be your wife. If you're honest with yourself, you never really did. But she deserves to be your Queen, Henry, not only by arrangement but in reality! She has everything it takes and you know it!"

"Stop talking about my wife or I swear I'll kill you here and now," the King's voice was dangerously low, his eyes dark from bubbling jealousy and ire.

"I know her better than you ever will if you don't start acting like her husband," the Viscount answered unimpressed, the prospect of his certain death leaving him fearless.

"I thought I had in the past few days and then she told me about your little secret," Henry raged.

"Isn't that what you always wanted her to do, to be honest with you? What else do you want from her," Richard raised his voice now to his former friend, the King of France. "If she keeps a secret from you she does you wrong, if she tells you the truth she's failing you again. Who do you want her to be if not herself?"

"I'm not sure either one of us knows who Catherine de Medici really is," Henry said, his voice almost calm now in his outrage. Could it be true what Richard had just said? Was everything Catherine did doomed to fail him?

"You must be blind to say something like that," Richard returned in defense of the woman he so clearly loved. "Can you really not see how much you and your family mean to her? How dedicated she is to your crown, to France? How hard it must have been for her to trust you with her life, after all you've put her through?"

"It's her life she's worried about, no doubt, and nothing else," the King replied bitterly, annoyed by the dedication Richard de la Croix showed to his Queen.

"And that's where you are wrong. She tried to protect you from the agony she's endured throughout your marriage, the endless pain of betrayal and solitude. I'm telling you, Henry, your wife loves you and if you cast her aside now for a misstep you've taken more often than you have shared her bed, then God help you, I hope she'll make you pay for this," Richard fumed. "You better face your own misdemeanors before you judge her for something you caused, because I would never have stood a chance with your wife if you had been by her side the moment she endured so many losses and fears in her life."

Registering the confusion in the King's eyes, Richard continued, "Were you even aware that she had suffered a miscarriage the day you informed her of Diane being pregnant with your bastard child? Did you even care?" Richard allowed his words to sink in. "Don't blame her for seeking some comfort from your mistreatment. Two decades ago, Henry, and she was happy for a fleeting moment, then sent me away to be faithful to you again, to bear your children only to be pushed aside for the other woman in your life. Think about that for a while and you may understand why Catherine has had such a hard time trusting you with her life."

Richard paused, aware of the emotions dancing in the King's eyes, himself unable to move. "What are your plans for her now that you know? Will you return to your mistress like you always do when you get bored with your Queen, are angry with her or feel challenged by her wisdom? Will you scream you'll have her head again or exile her or do something else to punish her for something you have been doing to her for more than 20 years?" The Viscount's eyes were dark and angry now, his voice more and more uncontrolled. "If you're planning to harm her, I'm telling you, kill me now or I'll be coming for you. I don't care that you're the King of France, I'll crush your throat with my bare hands if you cause her any more pain, if you let her suffer any more than she already has for loving you!"

Richard tried to get up but was pushed back down by a King who suddenly remembered that the man who had bedded his wife had once been a confidante, his trusted friend. "And don't tell me she doesn't, she always has, Henry, even when she was mine for the shortest of time. At least I told myself she was, but I now know that you've always been in her heart, even when I held her in my arms she could never let go off you completely or why do you think she sent me away?"

"And that's where you are blind out of love for my wife," Henry almost whispered, his pain so much deeper now that he realized his wife had been revered not only ravished by a man he had once trusted to be loyal to him. "You underestimate Catherine's desire to survive. When I learned of her stillbirth, the fruit of your passion as I now realize, I returned to court and ultimately gave her a child that finally survived. And just like that, you had become a threat to her survival and her crown. You shared a secret with her that could have cost her her head, that's why you had to go, not because she loved me so much or, mon dieu, loved you."

"She knew I would never give our secret away," Richard hissed at his King who so obviously relished in torturing him with words.

"And you didn't," Henry acknowledged the Viscount's sense of honor. "But today you must've threatened to tell me or she would never have done so herself. And that's why I'll have you dead! Not because you fell in love with my Queen and seduced her while I was away, but because you created discord between my wife and me, twenty years after we both know I failed her. And that's another secret you are going to take to your grave!" Picking him up from the floor with both hands, the King of France looked Richard deep into his eyes, his own glistening with hostility and heartfelt anger. "You were my friend, I once trusted you with my life. How could you do this to her," he almost screamed, not unaware that he had said _her_ instead of _me_. "Guards," the King shouted, choosing to ignore the trick his mind had played on him.

"Don't push her away again," Richard whispered, then finally begged as the royal guards chained him up and dragged him away. "Your Majesty, please!"

* * *

Catherine was sitting by the fire in her chambers, an empty bottle of burgundy on the table next to her, a second one opened already but only just touched. In her hands she held one of her golden goblets, a wedding gift so famous she had nearly died for it while Henry had been away – only recently, the Queen noted to herself in discontent.

"How many times have you tried to leave me to the wolves, Henry," she only asked herself, tears of quiet rage burning her eyes. She had reached that amount of burgundy intake where she didn't know how much more she was able to take, from his treatment or her favorite wine. Everything was blurry now, even a simple answer such as this, so she closed her eyes.

"Leave us," his voice seemed to ring inside her head but then it faded away. More voices in the distance, her ladies maybe, her guards. Silence then and a breeze of fresh air. Smiling to herself, Catherine saw Henry in her mind, standing by the open windows in his chambers, holding her close. Such a beautiful memory and still so fresh. Could it really only have been this morning?

"Henry," she whispered almost like a child as her tears spilled over and wet her cheeks.

"I am here," his voice reassured her in her dream, his arms lifting her up to carry her to the bed. Keeping her eyes closed, Catherine relished in the memories of his warmth surrounding her, his heart beating loudly in his chest, his legs entangled with her underneath the blanket. Allowing her tears to flow in silence, she realized her wine had numbed her pain again, it only hurt when she tried to breathe.

In the distance she heard voices again and the rustling of sheets when the smell of strange herbs suddenly reached her nostrils, causing her to turn her head towards her husband's scent still so vivid in her recollection.

"She needs some rest," a male voice seemed to whisper. "And she needs to eat."

"I'll take care of her," a woman answered duefully but was interrupted by the Henry in her dreams. "There's no need. I'll stay with her."

More voices in the distance and a door that closed, then his arms put her down on her mattress while his hands undressed her tenderly and tugged her into bed. It wasn't long before she felt his weight resting beside her in her sheets, his arms pulling her in a close embrace to ease the shivers she just realized she had.

"Are you here to love me," Catherine whispered, her eyes still closed, afraid to chase her ghost away.

"Catherine," his lips seemed to brush against her hair as he pulled her closer to his chest.

"Are you here to love me or leave me," her voice was shaking uncontrollably, from the cold breeze she felt coming towards her or the thought that her burgundy-fogged mind was tricking her, she didn't know.

"I'm not here to have your head," Henry's voice vibrated against her neck. "I'm here to make sure you're staying with me."

Smiling sadly into her pillow, the Queen now prayed this Henry could be hers, that she could open her eyes to her King lying right beside her despite her revelation about betraying him so deeply.

"You have to drink these herbs Nostradamus has prepared for you," Henry's voice suddenly sounded more real to her than before, the smell of the potion attacking her nostrils again, making her stir but the arms that held her didn't let go. "Catherine, please."  
"What is this," she tried to protest, then realized someone else was in the room with her holding the cup that was causing her stomach to turn.

"Someone has drugged you," the King tried to sound calm but was so obviously concerned. "Please, Catherine, just one sip. I know you object to obtrusive smells, but this one is a life saver, so I'm begging you, my Queen, I cannot lose you. Not like this!"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The King of France held his wife in his arms all night, calmed her shivers, pulled back her hair as the poison left her system bit by bit, fed her bits of food her stomach couldn't hold the moment she was forced to drink more of Nostradamus' potion and caressed her back to sleep for the short moments her exhausted body allowed her to rest.

Feeling her so weak against him and yet so strong in her resistance to a poison Nostradamus assured him would've killed any other woman he knew, especially one of such small stature, Henry wondered why he had never appreciated that kind of resilience in Catherine before. All he remembered was his annoyance with her opinions, her tenacity, her strategies, her wit. How was it possible that what made her so remarkable had always irked rather than impressed him?

"Your Majesty," Nostradamus' voice reached his ears, solicitous and quiet. "I think it would be best if we had someone draw a hot bath for the Queen. She's drenched in cold sweat, it would be bad if she caught cold."

"I was hoping to keep her warm by holding her," the King dabbed off his wife's forehead with so much care, the Queen's wizard averted his eyes for a moment. "She has been so cold since she took the last sip from that brew of yours, she was burning up before."

"That's good, her body's fighting the poison then. That means there's hope," Nostradamus assured the King, then slowly moved towards the door. "I'll call for her Majesty's ladies."

"Just ask the servants to bring the water," the King of France ordered quietly, careful not to rouse his wife from a dream he hoped she had. "I'll bathe her," he quickly added. "I don't want anyone to see her like this. She wouldn't like that."

"I'm sure she wouldn't mind being attended to by her ladies," Nostradamus hesitated to upset the King with an objection but was thinking of his patient, his friend. "They know what's best for her. They've been with her before in times of need."

"Be careful, Nostradamus, the cell you've recently occupied is still vacant. I will gladly put you back down there and throw away the key," the King growled at him, causing Catherine to stir in her sleep. "So skip the comments on my marriage and see to it that my Queen gets the hot water she needs."

"Of course, your Majesty," Nostradamus retreated and quickly found the servants to provide the necessary appliances, after all, if the King of France was unpredictable when he despised his Queen, he was equally capricious when he loved her.

When the water finally came, Henry dismissed Nostradamus and the servants, then tested and scented the steaming water like he had observed Catherine doing so many times for their children. "If this is your way of getting back at me for what I've done to you, Catherine, _"_ he whispered as he watched her lying on her bed, as pale as a foggy November morning, then gathered her in his arms to gently slide her into the tub smelling of lavender and herbs to calm her nerves and senses, to help her body heal. "If this is one of your plots to get me back after telling me about Richard…" He brushed a sponge over her neck and shoulders, then tenderly stroked her arms, careful not to hurt the skin where his prints were now showing in ugly colors, every bruise now scarring his heart.

"...then it's worked," his wife's voice sounded brittle, but the sparkle in her eyes suggested her mind was up to sparring with him although her body was too weak to fight the pain he tried so hard to avoid causing her.

"I should lock you in the tower for scaring me like this." Henry rubbed her back now tense from convulsing and writhing through the night. "For showing me your pain. For hurting me with a truth I needed to hear."

"Then hear another," Catherine moaned in discomfort as her husband glided into the tub to rest behind her and hold her close. The sponge floating in the water now, Henry's hands caressed her while his lips nuzzled her ears and neck to help her relax into his embrace. "I did not try to take myself out by drinking this wine."

"I know you didn't," the King reassured his Queen by kissing her cheek, then reached for the sponge to keep scrubbing her from head to toe, ever so gently. "If you choose to go out, you go out in style, my Queen. Poisoning yourself alone in your chambers without an audience, barely dressed in your nightgown and without a crown on your head is not your way of saying farewell to the realm. And there are no letters either, none for our children, none for me to make you the martyr and me the culprit, the devil who's wanted nothing more than to finally get rid of his queen."

"You tried to have my head before, it would make sense," Catherine closed her eyes to the tenderness her husband spoiled her with while his voice sounded raspy in her ears. "And now I gave you reason. No lies, no fabrications, just the truth about a lover and an unfortunate child."

Halting the sponge for a moment, Henry gasped at the images his mind created of his wife lying in the arms of the other man in her life. "Let's agree not to mention them again," he whispered, then put his lips to the bruises he had caused to heal his own.

Feeling her husband's remorse, Catherine took in a deep breath to fight hers from bubbling up. "I never meant to hurt you, Henry," she simply offered, her eyes closed as his lips brushed over her head and his breathing stopped for a moment.

"I wish I could say the same," he finally answered, his voice almost broken.

"This isn't the first time you've left my heart bruised, my love," the Queen said under her breath, her voice controlled like it always was when she addressed unfavorable topics.

"But this is the first time I'm seeing the pain I've caused you," the King whispered into her hair, then sat with her in silence until she was lulled to sleep by the warmth of the water, the calming effect of the lavender and the comfort of his loving arms.

Careful not to wake her, Henry carried his wife back to her bed before the water got too cold and tucked her in, then threw on his dressing gown to summon her ladies for a quick interrogation.

"Have you seen anyone in the Queen's chambers yesterday," he asked sternly while keeping his voice down and hushed to let his wife sleep undisturbed. "Anyone out of the ordinary?" Registering the shy looks his wife's ladies were exchanging, he rolled his eyes. "Except me."

"The servants you ordered to embellish the Queen's chambers for her return, your Majesty," one of her ladies answered.

 _Of course,_ Henry thought. _Another thing I did to her, although_ _clear_ _ly not on purpose._ He paused, then grumbled audibly, "Anything else that seemed suspicious?"

"The entire day was," the same Lady answered as before.

"Yes, we've established that," the King growled at her. "And you don't trust me now, do you, asking you all these questions?"

"I beg your pardon, your Majesty, but you were the reason for her Grace to order the wine that's left her so vulnerable now." The woman looked demure but bravely held his gaze, at least for a while.

"You've learned well from my wife," the King appraised her. "Not to be intimidated, not to trust your King." He paused and ordered the other ladies to rush away with a simple wave of his hand. "How long have you been with your Queen?"

"Since we were children," the Lady answered modestly.

"So you've known my Queen longer than I have as her King." Henry paused again, staring her down with a charming twinkle in his eye he knew could turn even the most decent of ladies. "Tell me, didn't I give my wife a lot of reason to trust me lately?"

"Not particularly," the Lady answered with a gulp in her throat.

"Fair enough," the King growled. "But have you ever seen her happy in my presence?"

"I have, your Majesty, when you were newlywed, when the Queen was expecting your precious set of twins and yesterday, before you left her in tears."

"Has your Queen taught you to be so unwisely honest," the King of France fought hard not to lose his temper with the woman standing so closely before him, the charm of her imprudence wearing off fast.

"I am just concerned for her Majesty. It's been a while since I last saw her shook up like this."

"It's been a while since I upset my Queen," Henry laughed. "Now that's hard to believe."

"I'm not talking about the usual threats she's learned to live with," the Lady stood her ground in defense of her Medici queen, her Italian accent stronger now that she was beginning to get nervous. "I mean the pain you caused her before you stormed off. I know the signs, your Majesty."

"What are you talking about," the King was getting impatient now with his wife's lady, although he registered true concern dancing in her eyes.

"She was going into reclusion after you had left her chambers, unwilling to be touched or soothed. I only remember seeing her like this once in this castle and she didn't have to tell me then what had happened. Many husbands remind their wives of their obligations when they are in the mood, not only Kings."

Glaring at the woman standing before him, her name still a blur while her face looked so familiar in his wife's presence, the King of France closed his eyes to the memories of last night. How he had lost his temper with his wife over a truth he still couldn't bear to accept, how his hands had grabbed her, leaving those marks on her skin he had just tried to undo with a caress. How she had tried to flee her bed but he had held her back with the tightening force of his grip. How his body had claimed hers until she had found a way to fight him off, her eyes then full of fear and a sense of pride he had only once seen in her before, the night he had been drunk and almost taken her against her will so many years ago. Her hand had shaken then like it had yesterday when she had managed to hold him at bay, her whole body tense, her face a mask of Medici callousness.

Henry's eyes flipped open and he grabbed the shoulders of the woman filled with worry about the King's reaction to her observations.

"Are you suggesting I brought my wife to poisoning herself," Henry almost shook her out of desperation, aware that his actions only deepened her suspicions about violating his Queen. "That you think I could… I would harm my Queen like this?"

"You've only recently thrown her in the tower and wanted her head after you tried to annul your marriage and take away her livelihood, her crown," his wife's lady argued unhappily. "Why wouldn't you do with her as you please here in her bed?"

"Do you really believe I would have my way with her, then run away and leave her to die like that," the King asked, his voice full of anger and trepidation.

"You didn't seem particularly concerned about your Queen's welfare after the hostage situation in the castle a few weeks ago." Aware of the King's surprise, the Queen's lady continued quickly, "Her Majesty saved us all, did you know that? Sent the royal family with us through the secret tunnels to escape and stayed behind to save Queen Mary and her ladies."

"I wasn't aware she stayed behind without my son..."

"She tried to keep him out of harms way, but he came back for his bride. Queen Mary was grateful to your wife for a fleeting moment while her ladies barely understood what they had survived, but your wife realized the danger they had all been in. She's been through hell like that before and told them so, but that didn't keep them from mistreating our Queen after you had imprisoned her for the duration of your most recent absence, leaving her without proper attendance or food although you had granted her the bare necessities of a Queen in confinement. So if you ask me again, your Majesty, I did not see anything suspicious last night but many days before. And I wouldn't be surprised if Ladies Kenna and Lola had their hands in poisoning the Queen of France, out of sheer malice or personal gain, that's for you to decide."

"Was the Queen harmed when Count Vincent seized the castle," the King asked, his voice filled with fury now over what he'd just been told.

"Not that I'm aware of," the Queen's lady flinched at the pain the King was causing her by holding her arms so tight she felt his nails digging into her flesh.

"Was she harmed then when she was held hostage as a child," Henry bore his eyes deep into hers, betraying his own apprehension and concern. "Is that what you meant?"

"I wouldn't know for certain, your Majesty," his wife's lady tried to evade his question, then inhaled deeply when she was finally released from his grip. "But when I asked her she assured me the captivity hadn't changed her."

"I cannot believe that's true," the King kept his eyes glued on hers while she tried everything to avoid his gaze. "There were rumors..."

"We never talked about such things, she wouldn't have it," his wife's lady finally revealed to him, not afraid of her life anymore as she saw torment dancing in the King's eyes. "But I remember the sympathy she had when she learned that you had been sent to Spain as a child to be held prisoner for your father's sins. It opened her heart for you before she met you as her bridegroom." She paused, then looked at him like a woman who had seen so much of his life without him noticing her presence. "You are so alike your Queen. I always thought that's why you could get under each other's skin like no one else I know."

Turning around to face his Queen sleeping in her bed, Henry felt a wound crack open in him he didn't know he had. So many things now suddenly made sense: Catherine's sudden hesitation on their wedding night, her reluctance to feed his growing sexual appetite, her refusal to entertain his aggressive side, her attempts to always be in control around him and her tendency to push him away when she wasn't. If she had been harmed or not, right now he couldn't bear to know for certain but eventually he would have to ask her, once he was able to absorb another truth and could look her in the eye without feeling guilty about all the things he had done to remind her how much her life depended on the good will and mood of her King.

"What's your name," the King finally asked, not to punish or degrade his involuntary informant but to keep her name in mind whenever he would screw up again and desperately needed someone to give him access to his wife. But she was gone, had rushed away on feet so silent she could only be one of his wife's Italian ladies. He knew no one else in the castle quite like them, sneaking in and out wherever they were needed by their Queen, their mistress, who had trained them oh so well in the art of survival and deception.

* * *

When Catherine woke from a deep slumber, her throat was sore and her head was pounding. Her body ached all over, the bruises on her arms a sad reminder of her husband's temper. Not that she wasn't used to Henry's grip but the pain surprised her every time. And this time, he had not hurt her in play, had not been rough with her to increase his pleasure, this time he had been mad and made her feel it. Catherine sighed. If she was honest, she was mad at herself: for having been in love with another man and for telling Henry now that he had finally begun to open his heart and shown her some tenderness again after all their years of a painful marriage.

Feeling the sheets next to her empty, Catherine closed her eyes to allow herself a luxury she rarely indulged in: self-pity. After four days full of pleasure with her very able husband, she was now alone in her bed again, hung over from a bottle of wine that had been supposed to heal her heart and instead had almost killed her. On a better day, she would probably have appreciated the irony but in the afterglow of an unexpected attempt on her life and the void her husband's absence left in her heart, the Queen of France didn't feel like laughing. Instead she wanted to hide away from the world and never set foot in French court for the rest of her life if her King had now decided to cast her aside again and was probably already entertaining his latest mistress.

"You're not surprised," Henry's voice suddenly reached her ears in a distant whisper, interrupting her self-loathing from inside her chambers.

"I don't know, should I be?"

"Bash, someone's tried to kill the Queen of France," the King scolded his bastard son. "Who would dare do such a thing?"

"Excluding you, you mean." Catherine tilted her head and sat up in her bed to hear more of what Bash was rightfully saying.

"Don't be ridiculous," Henry responded, making his wife smile. "Did I ever go behind my wife's back with my plans to get rid of her? Besides, that issue has been settled. So who else would have a motive?" Still in bed, Catherine rolled her eyes. Could he really be so blind?

"Considering her popularity, probably half of French court, parts of Scotland and I'm sure we'll find some hostile enemies in Italy, too." The Queen hated to admit it, but Bash was right.

"Don't push it, Sebastian. This is the Queen of France we're talking about. Of course she has as many enemies as there are rats ins this castle, but who would want her dead now that I've reconciled with her?" Catherine sighed in relief, he had not cast her aside, not yet.

"Someone who doesn't understand the wrath that's coming their way because only you have the right to kill your Queen?" The Queen chuckled quietly at Bash's remark.

"Your tendency to sarcasm, where's that coming from all of a sudden?"

"Oh, just something I picked up living in your castle." Smugly, Catherine grinned to herself. At least one mark she had left on that boy.

"Well, once you're done imitating my wife, I'd love to hear your theory on who wanted to kill my Queen now that I..."

"...now that you've re-established her as your Queen Consort. Not really tough to answer don't you think? Sounds like an obvious crime of jealousy to me." The Queen tried hard not to applaud Bash for his deductive talents.

"I already had someone suggest Kenna as a likely suspect to me today," the King grumbled. "Arrest her then and search her chambers. If there's just the slightest hint she's been ill-willed towards the Queen of France I want her thrown into the dungeon without any food or attendance. I want her to enjoy the same treatment she has given my Queen while I was away..." _...in Rome to annul our marriage,_ Catherine continued his sentence in a whisper to herself, then waited for Henry to return to her bed after Bash had left the room and find her awake.

"I thought I'd heard you chuckle there a moment ago," the King greeted his wife with a dire expression on his face.

"Why the grim face," the Queen asked playfully. "Are you mad that I'm not dead?"

"Last week I might've thought this funny, not so today," Henry answered, unable to withstand her smile. "I'm glad you're feeling better, Catherine," he added and sat down at the edge of the bed, pulling her close almost immediately.

"I had a dream of you bathing me last night," the Queen brushed her lips against his cheek.

"That wasn't a dream." The King closed his eyes just for a Moment to enjoy her treatment.

"So, the concern you showed for me," Catherine teased him, her voice lost to her in honest hope to hear him say he wanted to stay with her for good.

"I've learned a lot about you in the last two days, Catherine," the King gently stroked her shoulders, her back. "There's a lot I still have to come to terms with."

The Queen nodded quietly, then rested her head against his chest.

"But I'd like to stay with you tonight, to make sure you are all right." His hands fondled her arms and waist, until they came to rest on her hips, making her feel protected.

Listening to his breathing, her own matching his, she finally asked, "Did you have him killed?"

"Not yet, but I was hoping to talk to my most trusted advisor on the subject."

"And who's that?"

"Someone who's shown my eldest son great kindness growing up here in court despite her best efforts to hide it," the King sounded melancholy, distant, seeking comfort in his wife's embrace.

"You want me to decide how to end Richard's life," Catherine met his gaze with sadness in her eyes and yet she didn't seem surprised.

"I'm trying hard not to be cruel," Henry assured her, his thumb caressing her hip to support his argument. "Not to you, nor him. But I cannot just kill him like I want to, with my bare hands around his throat for being so deeply in love with you."

"So you're asking your Queen to do a King's job," Catherine whispered, unable to withdraw from her husband's arms.

"I'm asking you to choose how your lover dies, by your hands even if that's the mercy you wish to grant him. Otherwise, what shall it be: death by hanging or fire? Shall I have him quartered or beheaded?"

Unable to shed a tear, the Queen's voice broke at the hurt and anger she felt running through her husband's body, making her tremble. "I cannot decide that, Henry, please."

"I couldn't either," the King placed a loving kiss onto her head. "Because I had to take something else into consideration, not just my personal revenge. If I don't want the court to know about my wife's betrayal, I cannot have a public execution. And we both know I cannot just kill a man without a reason. That's why I sent Richard his last meal while you were still fighting for you own life, were asleep in this bed, in my arms. It was a good meal, you would've approved it, and I sent him wine. Wine from the bottle you didn't get to finish last night. It's a miracle you ordered two and just sipped at the one that was poisoned, Catherine. So consider the irony, whoever tried to kill you was a godsend for a murder we both didn't want to commit." Completely filled with sorrow now and quiet rage, Henry tightened the grip around his wife's hips but didn't hurt her like he had the day before. He was just trying hard not to show the tears that were dwelling up in his eyes, tears of jealousy and pain.

When his anger slowly began to subside, Henry finally dared to ask the question that had haunted his mind ever since she had revealed her secret to him in this very bed. "Did you love him?"

"He was kind to me and gentle," Catherine answered under her breath, careful not to cause her husband any more distress. "I think I did."

Watching tears forming in her eyes now instead of his, Henry cupped his wife's face in one of his hands and brushed his thumb over her lips. Pulling her close to him, her kissed her gently. "As long as you love me more," his lips vibrated against hers.

"I always have."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Catherine was lying awake in her husband's arms. She couldn't sleep, no matter how exhausted her body still was from fighting the poison. Her mind was racing. How was it possible that she hadn't tasted the poison added to her wine? Just one sip and her life had been threatened, that called for an experienced herbal artist. But the only ones she knew in her castle were Nostradamus and herself. So who else had access to such dangerous ingredients and had the skills to use them right? Surely not Kenna, Catherine was convinced the girl was hungry for status and power but too stupid to execute a plan like this. She would only end up poisoning herself. Lola on the other hand… No, it didn't feel right. The girl despised her and had probably smirked at the news of her indisposition, but she wouldn't be able to go for the kill. She was trying too hard to be a good person. So who else wanted her dead if Diane wasn't an option? Or was she?

Catherine wrinkled her forehead. With all the money Henry had granted his mistress over the years, she surely had build a wide net of contacts all over France. Laughable really in comparison to her own Medici ties all over Europe, but still impressive for a woman whose only skill it was to let a King grind on top of her. So the chance was there that Diane knew of Henry's rekindled feelings for his Queen, which would leave his mistress out there in the rain. And if Diane disliked one thing, it was to be reminded that legally she had no power over the King of France and could be cast aside much quicker than his wife. And that had always made her dangerous in Catherine's eyes. If confronted with the King's disfavor, Diane had nothing to lose, in contrast to her, the Queen, because the Valois line of succession was something she would still fight for from her grave.

Feeling Henry tense beside her, Catherine turned to observe him sleep. Usually a quiet sleeper, she had seen her King battling with nightmares before, but tonight his face was a mask of worry and pain.

"Catherine," he whispered, his hands searching for her in the sheets, then pulling her close as if he was trying to protect her.

"I am here," the Queen tried to relax into his frantic embrace, then realized he was still caught in his dream.

"Catherine," he cried out again. "No," his voice shaking her to the core.

Concerned, the Queen put her palm onto his chest to feel his heart racing. "Henry," she tried to soothe him. "It's just a nightmare, I'm right here."

But the King tossed and turned, whispering unintelligible phrases, then words she understood again. "Don't touch her. Leave her alone," he cried out, then started up.

Her hand still resting on his rapidly heaving chest, Catherine found her husband's eyes glaring into the darkness, the torture of his dream revealed to her in just one look. "Henry," the Queen whispered, suddenly afraid of what he might have learned about her past while she had fought that wretched poison.

Upon registering that she was all right, the King caressed her cheek with his hand and gave his wife a saddened smile, then pulled her close. "Go back to sleep."

Unable to follow his lead, Catherine watched her husband close his eyes and drift off to endure another nightmare. Caressing his arm she tried to soothe him with the tenderness she had often wished to express towards him in the past, but his temper had parched that ability in her soon enough. A smile crossed her lips as she witnessed the effect her caress had on him battling demons in his dreams. "Catherine," his voice was softer now as he called out her name, his arms still claiming her but a lot less possessive.

"Whatever is haunting you, my love," the wife whispered against her husband's skin as she tried to hide away in his embrace. "I'm here to protect you."

Waiting until her husband had fallen back asleep, the Queen of France slowly freed herself from his arms, then glided out of bed on silent feet, a skill she had mastered early on in her childhood. Reaching for his dressing gown instead of hers, Catherine wrapped herself in his scent, aware of how dependent she allowed herself to become on his presence. But in the aftermath of a poisoning he hadn't initiated, she felt safer surrounding herself with him, and when he was asleep, his dressing gown had to serve as a substitute for his embrace.

When she reached her desk, Catherine found traces of her husband's investigations and smiled. He hadn't only sent out Bash to make an arrest, the King of France had actually taken an active interest in finding his wife's almost assassin.

"What is going on, Henry," the Queen asked herself. "What's happening to you that you suddenly take such an honest interest in your wife's well-being?"

Had Bash been right, did the difference lie in the fact that it wasn't Henry who had tried to kill her but someone else instead? Would he look for the culprit and then return to chasing her himself? Was that his game, a mere illusion he created for her to feel safe?

Catherine shook her head. No, she had seen his eyes dancing with emotions for her, had felt the comfort of his arms when she had needed him most, his tenderness, his love. Years of torture unraveled in a few short days, although never fully undone. With everything that had been said, her mind assured her, that was impossible while her heart, the foolish thing, begged her to forgive if not forget.

 _I've learned a lot about you in the past few days. There's a lot I need to come to terms with._ His voice sounded in her head. What had he meant? Was it possible that one of her ladies had given her secret away to him?

Opening the little door that separated her chambers from the room occupied by her most loyal lady-in-waiting, Catherine whispered her name with an urgency that revealed her emotional unrest, "Beatrice."

"Your Grace," Lady Beatrice startled her queen with an immediate answer.

"What are you doing up at this hour," Catherine asked, suddenly concerned for the only companion she had in court apart from Nostradamus.

"I expected you would have trouble sleeping," Beatrice answered honestly.

"Henry is with me," the Queen replied with a grateful smile.

"And yet here you are asking for me in the middle of the night." Her lady offered her the chaise longue she had been sitting on to read, but Catherine shook her head.

"You know me too well," the Queen started thoughtfully, "My Achilles heel."

"Your Majesty?"

"Did my husband interrogate you about the poison Nostradamus detected in the wine I consumed last night?"

Meeting her Queen's gaze with a humble smile, Beatrice nodded. "The King asked if we had seen or heard anything suspicious."

"And did you," Catherine asked quietly.

"I am afraid I allowed myself to wear my heart on my sleeves last night," Beatrice admitted unhappily. "I was so concerned for you and so upset about his ignorance," her voice was shaking now out of fear of the famous Medici wrath she had witnessed so many times. "I took the liberty to speak my mind about all the wrongs I've seen you endure by his hands and others."

Tilting her head, Catherine closed her eyes to chase away the headache her lady's words ignited. "And what, may I ask, irked you the most that was worth mentioning to my husband?"

"I informed him about your bravery during the siege," Beatrice barely whispered in response.

"He knew everything he had to know about Count Vincent," Catherine's anger bubbled up through a forced little smile. "He was concerned about Kenna, not his wife. No questions asked!"

"Yes, but he had to know you saved her life and Queen Mary's, a deed no one has remembered since," Beatrice erupted, then apologized immediately with a humble look on her face. "I am sorry, Catherine. I have seen you survive a lot of atrocities by committing your own, but you never deserved to be poisoned for them. And I am not sure if Ladies Kenna and Lola are truly incapable of spiking your wine. I know you think they are, but from where I am standing, from what I hear, I don't think they are as free from sin as they wish to believe."

Studying her lady's face for a while, the loyal look in her eyes, the Queen finally sighed. "All right, ask Charlotte to search Lola's room. Kenna's is already being under investigation and I'm sure Bash will be thorough."

"Any other suspects you have in mind," Beatrice asked as she detected doubt in her Queen's eyes.

"I want you to find out if anyone's seen Diane de Poitiers in the past few days," Catherine nodded, "If anyone close to her has set foot in my Castle, if she knows where Henry has been in the past couple of days. I have no doubt she would try and kill me if she knows he's been sharing my bed. To poison my wine sounds exactly like her. She's never known to show much restraint nor the sense to know when not to cross me. So let's remind her of my last threat to her and see if she is aware that Henry knows about her involvement in the siege that almost had all of our sons killed."

"Do you think Sebastian could be her informant," Beatrice tried to get the obvious out of the way.

"No," Catherine shook her head. "He's too loyal to Francis and his father to support her plotting against me on such a level. I hate to admit it, but he's probably more decent than most of us these days."

Turning to return to her chambers, the Queen stopped before she reached the door, then faced Beatrice again with a look on her face that made her lady's heart ache for her as so often these days. "Does Henry know about Florence," the Queen of France finally asked her friend in a whisper.

Her voice steady and quiet, Beatrice replied truthfully, "He doesn't know for sure, but he was aware of the rumors and seemed shocked when I voiced my assumption that he had violated you the morning before. He seemed truly shocked that I would think he'd force himself on you." Allowing her words to sink in, Beatrice finally continued, "The despair I saw in his eyes was genuine when he asked if you'd been harmed as a child. No repulsion but pure horror for what you might have endured."

Swallowing the pain the crept up from deep inside, the memories she hadn't been able to shake since Count Vincent's attack, the concern for her husband, her fear he would repel her for her shame, Catherine steadied herself against the door frame, then took a deep breath and re-entered her chambers with her shoulders erect and her face a mask of practiced grace.

When she reached her bed and shed his dressing gown to rid herself of his scent, the Queen found her husband caught in another nightmare. Calling out for her, the King tossed and turned, making her forget her worries that he might find her undeserving if he knew her darkest secret and slid underneath her covers to hold him close. Caressing his arms and chest, Catherine nuzzled his neck and whispered words of comfort into his ears to help him relax. His body responding to her the moment her lips touched his skin, Henry woke to her hands treating him to a most intimate caress while his heart longed for her to make love to him on her terms instead of his. Opening his eyes, his pair of darkened brown met hers of shimmering gold. Her face a mask of agony and pain, she couldn't hide the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. That's when he knew he had talked in his sleep, had revealed that he knew the secret her eyes now confirmed to be true.

Stopping her from pleasuring him with her hands, Henry pulled his wife into a lingering kiss, his hand buried in the softness of her hair, her naked body pressed against his. "Let me love you, Catherine," he whispered, her sorrow matching his. "Let me help you forget."

When his hands touched her skin, keeping her on top of him, he encouraged her to take the lead, his knowledge of her past resulting in a hesitation previously unknown to him. It was as if he was lying with her for the first time, guilt piercing his heart about every time he had been rough with her, had pushed her boundaries. Watching her blush all over now, her eyes fluttering shut as he barely touched her, sending goosebumps down her spine, she looked different to him now. Her desire more refined, her face a mask of sadness laced with pleasure. It was a mixture as complex as his wife herself: intoxicating, seductive, tempestuous, raw. Never before had a lover's pleasure been his primary concern, but watching her now, her eyes still filled with tears while every caress of his seemed to chase away a ghost he hadn't known existed, he wanted nothing more than for her to come home to him, to find her release.

"Let me love you, Catherine. You deserve to be loved," he moaned as she began to rock him, her tears finally released, her cheeks wet as she finally let go of the fear that her husband could love her less if he truly knew her and her secrets.


	9. Chapter 9

**AN:** So sorry for the massive delay! Chapter 10 also in the works now. This Story is certainly not dead, nor forgotten, LoL!

* * *

 **Cha** **pter 9**

Rumor had it that the Queen of France would lose her head or already had. Francis wasn't sure how to handle the news or the message his father had sent to lure him back to court. Was this all a game to him or had he finally gone mad? Francis had often wondered if that was indeed a possibility, although the King of France had always been a little peculiar. The voices who spread such whispers in court had never added a name to the title though, because apparently, the Valois all had a tendency to be a little odd.

"Francis," Mary's voice reached his ears before he even spotted her in the crowded hallway. "You are back!" Her arms welcomed him in a tight embrace.

"I am," Francis tried to sound distant but failed as he always did when he saw her smile and felt her arms. "My father summoned me. What is it now, do you know?"

"You haven't heard," Mary's voice dropped as her eyes sought out Bash in the crowd, urging him to come greet his brother.

"You're back on," Sebastian offered without much ado. "You've been reinstated. It's as it should be, you are the Dauphin of France."

"What happened," Francis squinted his eyes, anger bubbling up at the sight of his brother standing too close to the Queen of Scots.

"Honestly," Bash shrugged. "We don't know. Just that your father wanted to have your mother's head and then he didn't."

"It's a little more complicated than that," Mary added, shaking her head.

"Complicated how," Francis asked half-annoyed, memories of his parents' quarrels flushing his mind.

"Let's just say your parents are both very skilled liars who deceived everyone into believing that they despise each other, including themselves..."

"What are you talking about, Mary," Francis interrupted confused. "They are at each other's throats all the time."

"Call it foreplay, call it a lover's quarrel," Bash half smiled, then grew silent at the scornful look he got from both, Mary and Francis.

"I wasn't sure this wasn't just one of your mother's ploys either, but it's been a week, Francis," Mary reassured him.

"A week of what?"

"Well, you know..." Mary smirked, then blushed. "They haven't been seen out of bed long enough to take care of France. Just an inquiry here and there about the attempt on your mother's life. Other than that I think it's safe to say they've been at it like newlyweds."

Glaring at her for a moment, Francis was unable to process the information Mary and his brother so gleefully presented to him. Shaking his head to chase away the pictures of his parents making love, Francis uttered, "An attempt on my mother's life you say? Who else but my father would be stupid enough to try and kill her?"

Unable to suppress a snort, Bash answered, "That's what I was asked to find out. Our father is very keen on knowing, too."

"Sadly, Kenna is a considered suspect," Mary grumbled. "The King had her thrown into the dungeon on mere hearsay."

"And you suspect my mother of fabricating evidence against her," Francis stated rather than ask.

"No," Mary returned immediately. "To my own surprise, I don't think she did. I'm not even sure she believes Kenna did it. That's why I urge you to put in a good word for her when you go see them."

"Oh, I'm not going to see them any time soon if they haven't… if they are…" Francis squirmed. "No!"

"Oh, don't be like that," Bash snickered. "They are really cute together, especially your mother. I don't think I've ever seen her so... unguarded."

"You saw them," Francis wrinkled his eyebrows.

"Not in the throes, thank you very much, but close enough."

"Oh, just leave now, Bash, will you," Francis shot his brother an unamused smile. "Please."

"Why can't you just be happy for them?" Mary pulled Francis aside and away from the prying eyes of too many possible witnesses while shooting Bash an apologetic smile on Francis' behalf. "Doesn't that give you hope?"

"Hope for what?"

"Our marriage," Mary replied truthfully. "Now that your father has welcomed you back as Dauphin, I'm sure he'll get your mother to agree to our wedding after all. They have overcome so many obstacles, why shouldn't we?"

"I never want to be like them, Mary. They tear each other apart."

"But you haven't seen them," Mary argued. "I have, briefly, in the hallway. They love each other."

"Maybe they do, I wouldn't know." Francis pulled Mary further away from any unwelcome listeners. "As a child I can remember seeing them happy for a while, but since? I recall my mother being pregnant with twins and my father first so elated and then so utterly desperate about losing her to them. It was a close call for my mother giving birth to them. I still see her pale face as she was lying in her bed, unable to hold my newborn sisters in her arms. She was so weak. And my father couldn't cope. Instead, he ran away to amuse himself, then avoided my mother completely after their babes had suddenly died."

Francis paused, the images of his grieving mother still so vivid in his mind. It was the last time he had really seen her cry. "I've never understood their marriage, Mary, not even now that I am older and understand what love is. So often they avoided each other in court and were uncivil behind closed doors. They could go silent for weeks at a time, only communicating when it was absolutely imperative for the sake of France and then, all of a sudden, my mother was with child again and happy about it, at least I think she was."

"I remember your mother expecting a child when I came here," Mary almost whispered. "She seemed happy then."

"I've really never seen her more happy than when she expected the twins. But later, that happiness turned to dust again. And now you tell me to look at them, to acknowledge the love they've only hidden from everyone as you say?" Francis shook his head. "No, Mary. They can't be with each other for long, nor apart. What kind of love is that? How long will it last?"

* * *

Catherine stood by her bedroom window, inhaling the fresh morning air blowing in from the outside. The sun was already up, hiding behind an increasingly gray sky. _Why is the rain never far after a couple of days of sunshine_ , she asked herself. And why did it bother her now that she was finally at ease with her husband? She had never been sensitive to changes in the weather before, so what was different now?Were it those memories she couldn't shake since the siege, those vile faces she couldn't forget, the pain her body suddenly remembered?Catherine sighed. A storm will come, she felt it in her bones. Now that had surely happened before and every time it had, it had brought on a lot of agony for her.

"Beatrice," she called out in a whisper as she heard familiar footsteps tiptoeing around the fireplace.

"I didn't mean to disturb you, your Majesty," her Lady apologized for the intrusion. "I just wanted to see if you needed anything."

"Actually, I do," the Queen of France replied without averting her eyes from the clouds flocking together to darken the sky. "I need to see my son. Has he arrived yet?"

"Indeed he has, your Majesty," Beatrice was unable to hide her surprise. "How did you know?"

"I had an inkling," Catherine admitted quietly.

"Should I send for him," Beatrice asked, unsure how to interpret her queen's state of mind.

"No," the Queen of France said without moving an inch. "I'll go see him in his chambers. I wouldn't want to wake the king."

* * *

When the King of France woke up, fresh air tickled his nose as he felt for her presence in their sheets, a contented smile dancing across his lips. But she wasn't there. Her bed was empty with only himself lying in it growing restless in his wife's absence. Two days since they had settled in her chambers or were it three already or even four? He didn't really know. Without his daily routine he easily lost track of time, a fact he knew Catherine had often bemoaned but now embraced. So where was she? Could she just be freshening up or had she finally grown tired of his company as he feared she would eventually?

Henry buried his face into her pillow to inhale her scent. Her face entered his mind almost immediately. The little smile he had seen washing over her mouth as he'd brought his own onto places on her body she had previously denied him. Those little moans born so deep within her soul, shaking his core. How hungry she must've been all these years to build up so much passion.

 _I love you_ , she had whispered, unaware the words had escaped her lips, bewitching him until tears had fallen down her cheeks, releasing her pain. Was it her past that was still haunting her or the certitude that he now knew? They had no spoken much since her secret had been revealed to him. Somehow he was afraid to ask and yet he understood all of a sudden, in her absence, that he had to hear her story in order to put it behind them and maybe also share his own.

"Your Majesty," a tentative voice interrupted his thoughts.

"What is it," the King growled.

"Your son is asking to see you," one of his guards announced with hesitation.

"It's all right, the Queen is missing in action. You can send him in," Henry shouted, then flung his legs out of bed and reached for the dressing-gown Catherine had discarded on the floor the night before. Only it wasn't his. "Hang on there," he added quickly, then grabbed the sheets to cover himself. "The Queen's all right but the King's indecent…," he mumbled.

"I'm sure I've seen worse," Francis replied honestly and laughed as he saw his father fighting with the bed cloth. "At least you're in your wife's chambers this time. Although," the Dauphin chuckled at the sight of the Queen's dressing-gown dangling at the edge of her bed. "Does mother know you're into cross-dressing now?"

"I see your mother's sarcasm has rubbed on you, too," Henry grumbled.

"It just comes naturally growing up in this family, I suppose," Francis retorted.

"You disapprove of finding me here. Just say it, it's all written over your face." The King held his son's gaze, expecting him to flinch. But he didn't. "I see a few days without the burden of your inheritance on your shoulders have done wonders to your spine."

"It's good to see you, too, father."

Patting his back, Henry approached his son with a hearty smile and led him to the fireplace where he had spent so much time with his Queen in the last couple of days. "So, you received my letter."

"I did," Francis was reluctant to admit. "But I must say it left me rather confused."

"It's all right, I understand," the King nodded. "It's been a confusing couple of days for a lot of people I imagine. But they've been so enlightening to me."

"Mary's already given me her version of the story and Bash his." The Dauphin watched his father making himself comfortable in his mother's favorite chair, then continued, "I hear you've imprisoned Kenna. Did you swap a mistress for a queen?"

"It did give me no pleasure to throw Kenna in the dungeon, if that's what you think. But it's where she belongs."

"Did it please mother," Francis asked before he could stop himself, his father's reaction immediately showing him he had gone too far with his unwarranted criticism.

"Kenna is one of many wounds I have inflicted on your mother," the King of France surprised his son with his honest answer. "The fact that she served me as my mistress has nothing to do with her imprisonment. She's suspected of treason."

"Of plotting to kill the Queen of France," Francis added. "I know. Bash said he couldn't find any hard evidence to tie her to that crime. Even mother believes those accusations to be groundless and yet..."

"You've spoken to her," the King slid to the edge of his seat.

"I have and she looked distraught rather than happy to be honest." Francis met his father's eyes to soften the blow of his words. "After everything I was told at my arrival, I expected to see her beaming with joy. But there was something in her eyes..."

"Where is she now?" Henry was on his feet faster than the Dauphin could reply.

"I think she wanted to go see Kenna," Francis shouted. "You might want to get dressed before you go find her… Maybe?"

"Right," the King of France stopped before he could reach the door. "This keeps happening from time to time." Ignoring his son's bewildered look, he went on, "Have you seen my trousers? I mean, I believe your mother would snag my dressing-gown. It's hers now really, she loves it. But my trousers? No." He shook his head.

"Father, are you all right," the son asked with a heightened level of concern.

Stopping the search for his pants for a moment, the King let himself drop onto his wife's bed, his eyes lost somewhere in the distance. "I just found her, Francis," he uttered. "I just found her and now I fear she's slipping away."

"What are you talking about," the Dauphin tried to soothe him.

"I woke up and she wasn't there," Henry started. "I've learned so much about her in just a couple of days. So many things that made me realize..." He paused, looking for words. "I never realized how much I've hurt her, Francis. How much I need her. How much I love her really."

Seeing his father broken over his mother's absence, Francis remembered the words his mother had told him just moments ago as she had met with him in his chambers to welcome him back. Her embrace had lasted just a little too long, her tears had shimmered just a little too much, dimming her otherwise radiant smile.

"Mother, what's going on," he had asked.

"I'm just not used to all the attention your father is showering me with as of late," she had answered, wearing her heart too much on her sleeve to suggest she was her usual self. "It will pass."

"If what Mary told me is true, you surely don't believe father will stop loving you again?"

Her response had followed eventually, but not without a sadness in her voice that still haunted him for Francis had never heard his mother admit to her feelings for his father so honestly. "You don't stop caring for someone you love, even if it kills you inside. But you will fall in and out of love if you don't know the difference between love and infatuation. Most people don't and I envy them because it's so much easier to want someone for a while than loving them for the rest of your life."

"Father," Francis knelt before his father now, trying to connect with him in a way he wasn't sure he would later come to regret. But with everything that had clearly changed between his parents since his disinheritance and reinstatement as the Dauphin of France, Francis decided to risk it. "Listen. You tend to get obsessed with things you long to have and mother is a little wary of your obsession with her. From what I hear, you've been with her every second of her waking hours. You overwhelm her with your presence. Give her time, give her room to breathe. Mother doesn't like to feel boxed in. She'll push you away. Don't let that happen." Waiting for his father to protest, unsuccessfully so, Francis continued, "She truly loves you, so please, give her a chance to adapt to the feelings you are showing for her now. And then stay with her this time for good. Show her you are worthy of her love and she'll come around. You may never tame her Medici temper but you can open her heart to the tenderness she holds within. It took me a while to see it, but it is there and plentiful. I've seen it, only today when she was talking about you." Unable to go on, the memory of his mother's saddened smile clinging to him like an unwelcome guest, Francis shared his father's silence for a while, allowing his words to sink in.

"I really need my trousers now," the King of France finally said, his hand cupping his son's.

"Of course," the Dauphin replied, uncertain how much of what he had revealed to his father had actually reached his heart.

* * *

"What are you doing here," Kenna's voice sounded tired as she looked at her visitor through the small barred window of her cell door. "Are you still debating what else to pin on me?"

"I'm just checking on the rats to see if they've got enough to bite," Catherine de Medici answered annoyed. "Silly girl. Do you really believe that if I wanted to pin my murder on you, you'd still be alive?"

"I was told sex with your husband had made you soft and tender, but I guess that's something you preserve for him," Kenna spat rather than replied.

"Ah, Kenna. Always such a joy to speak to a true lady," the Queen of France smiled. "Scottish manners are really leaving nothing to be desired."

"I doubt you've come here to exchange pleasantries, so why bother."

"Well, then let's cut right to the chase, shall we," the Queen agreed, her eyes focused and slightly cold. "Someone tried to poison me and we both know it wasn't you."

"Do we," Kenna commented rather than asked.

"Well yes, I know, it's almost charming to think Henry believes you are smart enough to come up with a plan to outwit my system of food tasters, but let's face it: you are not. You rotting here for a crime you didn't even think of before it was committed is evidence enough."

"How do you know I didn't think of killing you before," Kenna laughed. "Before you spiked Henry's drinks or whatever you did to lure him back into your bed, I was fantasizing about getting rid of you many times."

"And this is how you lose your head without even going through with any of your imaginary plans, because an admittance such as yours already counts as treason if it involves the Queen of France and that happens to be me. So," Catherine paused. "Unless you want me to give away your dirty little secret, will you help me figure out who Diane could have bribed to gain access to me or not?"

"Why ask me if you think I'm such an opposite of smart?"

"Because you may not be smart, but you're attentive. If there is one foul apple in my fruit basket, I'm sure you may have an idea who it might be."

"Why would I pay attention to your rotten fruit basket," Kenna laughed.

"Because you want what I have," the Queen reasoned coldly.

"And what is that?"

"Henry," Catherine held her gaze, an abundance of emotions washing over her face, catching the young girl off guard. "But not the man, the King is who you want. That's where we differ."

Averting her eyes, Kenna retreated to her thoughts for a moment until she finally answered the Queen, her face controlled in her displeasure. She hated to be left waiting. "Isabelle could be your foul apple. Her tongue's been a little too loose talking about you on occasion."

Pouting her lips, Catherine nodded. "Yes, I'm afraid I'm not surprised."

"I don't have evidence though," Kenna was quick to add, afraid for the girl's life all of a sudden. "Not that you care about such things much but…"

"I care about evidence more than you give me credit for," the Queen of France replied thoughtfully. "My husband is good at fabricating it, I'm good at making it disappear."

"Is that how you seduced him back into your arms? Did you remind him of the asset he has in you? Is that more important to his realm now that he has his heart set on England?"

"I see a few days in captivity did wonders to your deductive talents, Kenna," Catherine raved with a non-existent smile. "Yes, that's it, because what could possibly be more important to a king than the youthful flesh of yet another mistress?"

Shooting Kenna a disdainful look, the Queen of France turned on her heels and walked away without showing any reaction to the cries and laments of the young girl who had had the nerve to take on a Medici queen without weapons or armor. Brave in a way, Catherine thought, but also so utterly stupid. And stupidity was really not something she appreciated.

When the King of France appeared at her cell door moments later, Kenna couldn't help but laugh bitterly at his disheveled appearance and his apparent disappointment as he heard her speak.

"Now what do you want," she rolled her eyes. "Your Queen just left."

"Where did she go," the King asked frantically, his voice angry one second and broken the next.

"Whatever has she done to you," Kenna feigned concern but gave up the moment she realized he wasn't even looking at her.

"It's not so much what she has done but rather what I didn't do," Henry muttered, then left as quickly as he had appeared, leaving his former mistress alone with her frustration over the current madness of French court.

* * *

Back in court, Henry de Valois was roaming the halls looking for his wife. Everyone he passed was sure to hear it with utmost urgency, noblemen, servants, attending ladies. This wasn't a king looking for his queen. This was a husband concerned for his spouse. When he finally stopped to think, Henry wondered what he had done since he had learned about Catherine's secret, except battling nightmares and making love to her, his remedy to battle all his demons. He had also prayed while she had slept, their family bible always giving him solace. Yes, that could be it! The chapel, his mind was quick to connect the dots. If Francis was right and Catherine had looked distraught, where else would she look for guidance but in prayer?

Rushing down the hallway, he King almost tripped as his feet tried to keep up with the pace his heart was setting. When he finally reached the royal chapel, Henry already spotted the concerned face of the woman who had disappeared so quickly after opening her heart to him about his wife. Two days ago or three, he still didn't remember, but it felt like an eternity to him now.

"What happened," the King of France asked without any effort to mask his disquiet.

Shaking her head, Beatrice was looking for words that didn't come.

"Leave us," the King whispered, his eyes assuring her it was all right.

"Of course, your Majesty," his wife's lady whispered, then nodded to the Queen's guards to stay in a safe distance to protect the royal couple if necessary.

When Henry entered the prayer room, the first thing his eyes registered was his wife kneeling in front of an endless row of candles burning for the lost members of their family. Her parents, he knew she always prayed for them although they had never met, his parents, too. The children lost to them, the ones that hadn't seen the light of day. Their extended family and probably Richard now as well.

Henry gulped. Seeing her so humble on her her knees, her head held low, her eyes closed, he longed to hold her like he had never longed to hold anyone before. And when her voice reached his ears in a broken whisper, his heart ached for his Queen so vulnerable before him, his source of strength, his pillar in so many storms.

"Dio mio, I am begging you," her prayer began. "Help me find a way to love my husband without the hurt we have inflicted on each other. Show me how to be his wife without pushing him away because I cannot cope with the ferocity of his emotions and help me control my fear of losing him again to someone else. I couldn't survive seeing him with another now that I know how it feels to be loved by him. Lord, please!" Silent tears were streaming down her face while her voice remained steady with just the slightest hint of taint. "Help me find the strength to trust him and his love for me. Help me forget the men who took away that trust I used to have. Help me forget their faces, those images that have returned to me in my dreams, crippling me..."

Closing his eyes, Henry's pain matched her inability to continue with her prayer. Unable to endure the pictures his mind created of her abuse, he closed the gap between them and put his hand onto her shoulder to avoid startling her with his presence. Watching how her tears overwhelmed her, Henry knelt behind her and pulled her close, gathering her in his lap like a hurting child. Brushing his lips over her hair, his hands soothed her with a tenderness he hadn't know to have in him. Rocking her back and forth, his voice was lost to him as he tried to reassure her that everything would be all right. How she had been able to keep that secret from him, had coped, it was too much for him to understand. So he let her weep while his own tears fell in silence. He didn't want to add to her agony, her fears. Holding her now was the best cure he could offer and judging by the tightness of her arms welcoming his embrace, he knew that letting her grieve was just exactly what she needed from him right now.

So they sat in silence, the King of France and his Queen, both scarred so deeply by their demons now finally revealed.

"What I can do," Henry whispered as his wife's body stopped quivering at last and her tears began to dry.

"Just hold me for a while," she replied, her throat sore from sobbing.

"You gave me a quite a scare this morning when I woke and you had just disappeared without a trace," he tried to laugh, but the dolor in his voice gave him away.

"I'm sorry," his Queen made herself comfortable in his embrace. "I needed to be my own person again, if only for a while."

"Francis asked me to give you some space," the King kissed the top of her head. "Is that what you want?"

"I don't want to hide away with you in our chambers forever, Henry, that's what I want. I want to face everyday life as husband and wife."

"You don't trust my love for you will last," his mouth nuzzled her ears. "That it will withstand the dangers and allurements of court life."

"You are the King," Catherine argued. "And we both know the perks that job comes with on occasion."

"What if the only perk I want is you," Henry nudged her chin up with fingers so tender Catherine closed her eyes, then placed a kiss onto her lips so soft, she almost wondered if she had imagined it.

"You surely aren't trying to seduce me now," she merely whispered. "Here, of all places."

"Are you growing pious on me all of a sudden," Henry laughed as he deepened his kiss, then pulled away. "But maybe you are right," he added, then propped himself up to stand on his feet and held out his hand to help his wife up as well. "Let's take it slow for a while."

Searching his eyes to understand what had brought on his sudden change of heart, Catherine placed her palm onto his chest in a soft caress. "You need not tread lightly for my sake," she whispered. "I appreciate your concern but..."

"I know about your dreams, Catherine," Henry cupped her face in his hand. "I've felt you toss and turn at night. I heard your prayer. I've seen your tears."

"Those tears don't have anything to do with you," the wife tried to appeal to her husband.

"They have everything to do with me," the King reassured his Queen. "And I understand them better than you may think."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

The Queen of France sat by the fire, watching the flames dance, following a rhythm of their own, no pattern, no constraints. Just the wood giving them life and the sparks flying high, sizzling in the air in response to the draft caught in the chimney. Such a beautiful glow and yet Catherine shivered.

"Come to bed," her husband's voice reached her ears. He had watched her standing by the fire for a while, lost in thoughts while he sifted through his bible to look for a passage to give him hope. "You'll catch cold there with your arms so bare."

She smiled. "I'll be right there." It was a lie, but not one told on purpose. She wanted to be with him, lie in his arms, have nothing but his heat to keep her warm and the little piece of cloth that was her nightgown. But she couldn't move, could not shake that feeling of a storm coming towards them, especially after what he had told her only moments ago. His memories of Spain, his father's debts paid by him and his brother without their consent. Oh the pain they both must've had gone through, two young boys suffering for their father's sins, scarring them for the rest of their lives.

"I didn't tell you so you would entertain my demons now along with yours," the King hopped off the bed to embrace his wife from behind, showing her how cold, indeed, her entire body already was.

"I cannot help but wonder how things could've been for us had we confided in each other when we were still young," Catherine admitted under her breath.

"We are still young, my Queen," Henry laughed. "Even if our children disagree."

"Not young enough," she tilted her head to meet his eyes, smiling sadly, while his hands rubbed her skin gently for warmth.

"What's going on in that enigmatic mind of yours," the King leaned down to kiss her softly.

"It's just a feeling I have that I cannot shake," the Queen shrugged.

"Please explain yourself," he said, his hands lying still on her shoulders for a moment for reassurance.

"You'll call me superstitious," Catherine sighed. "Quite honestly, I don't know what to make of it either."

Pulling her closer to share the warmth of his dressing gown with her, Henry whispered, "Catherine, trust me."

Nestling into his embrace, she shook her head, "You keep saying that, but..."

"I know I cannot take back the past, but I can try and redeem myself." the King let out a sigh. This wasn't easy for him. "Nostradamus, for one, he saved your life. I still don't trust his motives, but I might have to open my mind to your faith in him and his expertise."

"This isn't about something Nostradamus has envisioned," Catherine was gentle in her reply. "It's something a lot less fathomable. A gut feeling I have that great harm will come to us."

"It's just the aftermath of your poisoning, my love," Henry brushed his lips over her hair. "It has affected your nerves, quite understandably."

"This isn't nerves, Henry. I'm not hysterical," the Queen stayed calm despite her bubbling frustration. "It's like that feeling I had when Louis died. I didn't foresee his death or else I would have tried to prevent it, but I knew that something wasn't right."

"You never mentioned anything to me."

"As if you'd listened at the time," Catherine turned around in his embrace to look into his eyes.

"I was as devastated about the death of our son as you were," the King said quietly, his heart aching for the pain he saw washing over her face at the memory.

"Were you really," she asked without accusation.

"It was a time I don't remember with much fondness," Henry admitted, unable to control his voice. "Charles had just been born and you immersed yourself into his care to overcome the grief you couldn't hide over his brother's passing. It was just you and our children then. That's when I first saw you putting them first, before us and everybody else, including yourself. There was no room for me, even if I had found a way to reach out to you."

"I don't remember you trying," Catherine choked down a tear. She didn't want to grow bitter now that she saw how hard her husband was trying to make sense of the marriage they had led for so many years.

"I held your hand all through the funeral," the husband reached out to caress his wife's cheek, his eyes brimming over with emotion.

"I remember that," Catherine nodded. "It gave me strength." She paused. "But after..."

"I didn't know what to say to you," an honest admission, pride pushed aside by guilt.

"Until that night," a small smile played around her lips at the distant memory.

"Until that night when I found you unable to withhold your grief from me. Your voice so full of pain, your eyes red from crying." The King's eyes filled with tears. "It was the only way I knew how to make you better."

"You reminded me I was alive," the Queen barely whispered.

"I made love to you." This fingers fondled her cheeks so lightly, as if afraid the memory would vanish if he touched her for real. "That's what it was for me."

"And gave me another child."

"Another son," Henry smiled.

"Properly named."

"I never understood why you called him Henry," the King admitted to his Queen.

"Why wouldn't you?" Catherine wiped away the tear his eyes had released without his consent.

"Because we made love and then you pushed me away again," he whispered. "You didn't seem to need me or care about my presence. You've always been fine living your life without me in it."

"Your memories differ from mine completely, Henry," the wife replied under her breath, her gaze saddened but not angry like she used to be. "It was you who fled into Diane's arms every time things got complicated between us or a pregnancy of mine was announced to you. It was your time of happiness with her, away from me. So don't embellish our marriage now, please." Catherine placed a soft kiss onto her husband's lips. "We had good times but most of them were bad. And I'm beginning to understand why that was."

Standing in silence for a while, the King held his Queen safely tucked away in his arms, her words resonating with him on a level he still hadn't gotten used to. Absent-minded he caressed her and indulged in the feeling of her breath teasing his skin. When his wife wrapped her arms around his torso to absorb as much heat from him as she could, the King of France finally spoke again, his voice as raw as the emotions her words evoked, "I wish I had realized how much I hurt you, Catherine." Her face pressed against him snuggling close, he felt her eyes shut, her lashes tickling his chest. "How many times your heart broke because of something I did."

Taking in a deep breath, the Queen of France remained silent in her husband's embrace, her mind unable to find the right words to express her anguish and hope.

"Please let me try and fix it." Henry brushed his lips over her hair, then continued softly, "I once told you your heart was black. That you were cold, incapable of love." His voice broke. "All those things I said," he paused. "I cannot blame you for pushing me away all those years ago. I may never really have allowed you to pull me close."

Still unable to find the words to express herself, Catherine hid in her husband's arms and brought her lips to his chest instead, releasing her tenderness in a kiss, then two, then three.

"I want us to do better now, Catherine," the King promised, his eyes fluttering shut. "I want you to be my wife. Not only for show, but on the throne." He paused, unable to withstand her treatment. "Your throne. Ours."

Against his skin, Catherine smiled.

"I want you by my side, like you've always been and only you," he raved amidst a moan. "My ally, my rightful queen, always fighting for the best of France. My partner in crime."

"Quite literally," Catherine quipped, trying to keep her own feelings from overwhelming her.

"Let's strike a deal," Henry suddenly said, pulling away just to look into her eyes darkened by doubt. "I'll tell you a secret and you tell me one of yours. It must be grave, so we will never be tempted to use it against each other in a moment of weakness or rage."

"Henry, I can't," the Queen of France shook her head. "You already know enough as it is. I see what it does to you, knowing about Florence. I won't put you through any more nightmares."

"I know trust doesn't come easily to you," the King assured his wife still in his arms. "And I understand now why that is. But you can trust me, my Queen, because the secret I have in store for you could cost me my life."

"Then I don't want to know it," Catherine tried to resist. "I don't want to have that kind of power over you."

"By taking my heart you've already enforced your claim of power over me, my Queen, intentionally or not." His lips teased hers for a tender kiss growing deep.

"I don't want to hurt you," the Queen whispered as she broke away, unwillingly, to catch her breath.

"You won't," Henry promised. "Nothing could hurt me more than knowing you shared a bed with a man I considered my friend. And I already know that you did. Everything else pales in comparison."

"Don't be so sure, darling," her words vibrated against his lips as he renewed their kiss.

"Trust me," the King insisted. "I'll say it as often as you must hear it to believe. I love you, my Queen, and I'll prove it to you by trusting you with my life."

They stood entangled for a while, sharing kisses so tender they let Catherine hope her husband would forget about his childlike request. Trust, that concept so many people had paid a price for that was too high. She wasn't willing to do the same, not ever, not now. And yet, his lips probing hers, his hands finding that spot on her spine that made her purr like a cat. The honesty she had seen shining in his eyes paired with something she couldn't quite place.

"I killed my brother," he suddenly blurt out, stopping her cold.

"What?" The Queen of France pulled away from her King to get some distance and pace the room.

Giving her some time to collect herself, Henry watched her with concern. So many emotions washing over her face, haunting him like a ghost.

"I always thought you believed the gossip and blamed me for the death of your brother," Catherine finally gasped as she lowered herself onto her bed to allow her husband's revelation to sink in.

"You didn't even have a hunch?" Henry was honestly surprised. Rarely had he seen his Medici wife so shaken.

"Contrary to popular belief I wasn't born ruthless," she muttered. "I only grew hard. But you... Killing your own brother?" She paused. "Why?"

"At the time I thought I would spare him," the King offered helplessly, his wife's question catching him off guard.

"Spare him from what," the Queen glared at him in disbelief, her voice suggesting she wanted to understand his motives rather than judge.

"Francis was too weak to be king. Mentally, physically. He wouldn't have lasted a year on the throne," Henry reasoned half with himself. "But it wasn't mercy that made me take his life, Catherine. I know that now." He waited for her soothing words, but when none came he added, "And now you fear me." His heart sank.

"Henry," the wife answered calmly, hurting for her husband while the Queen feared for her King. Stroking his head as he came to kneel in front of her, resting his face in her lap, Catherine sat in silence for a while, sorting her thoughts. "My first-born child, the daughter I had with Richard, is still alive," she finally offered. "Nostradamus told me after you had him imprisoned. She's been living in the darkness somewhere, here in the castle." She inhaled deeply, unable to stop the tears from welling up while her voice remained steady for a while. "Upon learning about her existence, my heart broke for her, Henry, for her misery, her pain. She was an innocent born into this world but she has endured so many wrongs." Catherine held her breath. "But look at what life has done to us, all the torture, the abuse. How it has prevented us from living a life enchanted by our blessings, our love. So I'm asking you, how can a soul be healthy after growing up in the shadows, unwanted from the start, discarded even by her mother?" She paused. "The moment Nostradamus told me about her, all I could think of was how to put her down. How to end her suffering, the life she didn't ask to lead." The Queen's tears were falling freely now, her control gone as her voice began to quiver, "So how could I possibly fear you and what you did while thinking this about my own flesh and blood? It's myself I am afraid of, Henry. I gave birth to her, she is my child and all I can think is how she'd better be off dead."

Pulling her down to sit next to him on the floor, the King gathered his Queen in his arms, allowing her to shed her tears without constraints. Trust me, he had meant what he had said but seeing her now, crumbling in his arms, he wished he had listened to her reluctance to share more of their pain. And yet... Feeling her tears flowing so freely, he noticed something had changed. For the first time really in their marriage, he didn't feel like running away from himself. He didn't crave to be elsewhere and avoid confronting his ghosts. Instead, he wanted his wife to get better, no matter what it would take. And although seeing her so broken killed him inside, it also triggered an urge to be by her side. To chase away her demons and replace bad memories with good. "I love you, Catherine," he finally whispered, unable to breathe. "I always will." And tomorrow I'll prove it to you, he added without speaking the words.

* * *

The night had been short but peaceful sleeping in her husband's arms. No dreams she could recall, no nightmares at that, no tossing either, just a few hours of uninterrupted slumber to rejuvenate her soul and heal it, if only just a little. His embrace had done the trick, had helped her sleep without her even knowing how she had ended up in bed. Surrounded by his scent now, Catherine slowly came to her senses as regret filled her mind. His scent only lingered on his pillow, no arms to caress her awake, no lips to kiss but his voice somewhere in the distance. As her mind fought that state of nocturnal unconsciousness she had so blissfully enjoyed, she heard his voice disappear, then footsteps so close she couldn't help but open her eyes to see who it was.

"Good morning, your Majesty," Beatrice greeted her with an honest smile. "The King has asked us to draw you a bath when you wake up. It will be ready at your convenience."

"Why so formal," Catherine de Medici asked her long-time lady while stretching her limbs. "Are we trying to impress someone?"

"After everything I've seen change around here in the past two weeks, I prefer being on the safe side." Beatrice's smile broadened, then vanished again at the memory of her own chattiness with the King.

"On the safe side you'll always be with me," Catherine replied truthfully.

"On yours maybe, but what do I know about the King?"

"The King has always had his mood swings," the Queen masked her doubts about the longevity of her husband's devotion towards her with a hearty laugh. "You think I'm one of them?"

"I didn't mean that," her lady lowered her head, sorry for her remark gone out of hand.

"It's all right, Beatrice. I know you didn't. But one tends to wonder, I understand." Catherine sighed. "Where is my husband for instance? What's driven him out of bed so early in the morning?"

"Court business he said and asked me to tell you to join him in the throne room once you've readied yourself for the day," Beatrice curtsied. "I don't know why I just did that." She blushed. "I'm truly sorry, but there was something in the King's behavior as he just left, something in his gaze..."

Squinting her eyes, the Queen of France pulled herself up and eased into the part she had so often played as the dutiful wife. "We better not leave him waiting then," she simply said and shot Beatrice a look not even her most loyal lady was able to read after years of practice.

* * *

"So, do I understand you correctly," the King of France asked unamused, his voice growling through the throne room despite his best efforts to keep it hushed from the few people surrounding them, mainly their guards. "You are asking me to release Lady Kenna in exchange for your silence?"

"I wanted to approach you with the evidence before, but you've been rather busy," the Queen of Scots replied with a playful shrug.

"So while I corrected an unfortunate mistake, you investigated the Queen of France," the King sent mental daggers through the young girl standing before him with the audacity of a teen but the power of a catholic queen. "To get what you want, my son's hand in marriage."

"That was your plan originally," Mary responded without flinching. "Must I remind you?"

"Must I remind you that you had no authority looking into my wife's past," the King's eyes met Bash's in his anger, forcing him to join the conversation with his former fiancée. "Acquiring the help of my unlawful son who may be considered a usurper if your actions became common knowledge. Is that what you want?"

"You would not dare expose him," the Scottish Queen held his gaze, completely sure of herself.

"I exiled the rightful heir to my throne and was ready to kill my wife in order to add England to my realm," the King of France glared at her with eyes so dark, the young queen had to look away. "Are you really prepared to challenge me on that?"

"Kenna is innocent," Mary argued stubbornly. "I will do whatever it takes to set her free."

"Even if it costs my wife her livelihood and my son his life?"

"Your wife's fate is in your hands," the Queen of Scots stood her ground. "You can pardon her from whatever verdict Rome decides befits her."

"Just listen to her, Francis," the King of France signalled the Dauphin to join their little chat. "Always so keen on accusing your mother of being so hardhearted, ruthless even. Now look who's talking!" Henry shook his head. "I want to see the evidence you've gathered before I agree to any deal."

"All right," Mary nodded and told her guard to present the witness Bash urged her not to reveal with a pleading look on his face. But his gaze was ignored despite the proverbial axe already dangling over his head. "Meet the midwife who was present when your wife gave birth to another man's child."

Swallowing the hatred he felt creeping up inside of him over the spiteful remark the Queen of Scots had just dropped in dire hope to jam a wedge between him and his Queen again for her own benefit, the King approached the woman kneeling before him. "Is it true," he asked sternly. "Where you there on the night my wife bore her child? The one she was told had tied?"

"Yes, your Majesty," the middle-aged woman stuttered.

"How did you know the child wasn't mine," he pressed her for details, unwilling to believe her claims just like that.

"The child had a birthmark on her cheek," the midwife offered unhappily. "Matching the lover's."

"Was the Queen told about the mark," Henry's voice almost broke asking this.

"She was and she was devastated to learn it wasn't your child she had born," she confirmed his faintest hopes. "She was afraid for her life, your Majesty, but also saddened that it wasn't an heir to your throne."

"Why was the Queen told her child had died," the King closed his eyes, torturing himself with the question he didn't really have to know the answer to but wanted to on his wife's behalf.

"Because she was reluctant to part from her newborn child," the midwife answered truthfully. "She rejected the babe at first but you could tell she couldn't bring herself to give her up for good. So the medicus promised he would be able to remove the birthmark without any harm coming to the child. We all knew it was a lie, just the Queen believed him in her despair. A bastard daughter did not threaten your line, your Majesty, so she wanted to raise the child as yours."

"But she did not get a chance to do that," the King of France glared at the woman still kneeling in front of him.

"The medicus did terrible things to the poor child, deforming her for life," the midwife admitted distraught. "So it was decided to inform the Queen her child had died."

"Leaving her grieving for her child," Henry said through gritted teeth. "Filling her heart with guilt, without a chance to say goodbye."

"I'm not sure the Queen lost too many thoughts about her firstborn daughter," the midwife was unwise enough to utter. "Once her tears had dried, she focused on bearing you an heir and removed the lover from her life who could've given her secret away."

"And now, only you are left to tell the tale," the King of France whispered, his voice threateningly low.

"I never told a soul, your Majesty, I swear to you," the woman begged, then cried out as the King's sword hit her neck and cut her head off with one forceful blow.

"And we both know that is a lie," the King shouted, tears of anger filling his eyes. "So who else wants to tell the tale of my wife's misfortune?" Waving his sword up high in the air, he looked into the fearful eyes of Bash, Mary and Francis. "Any volunteers," he asked, his chest heaving in anguish. "No? Good. So let's make one thing clear. If one word of this leaves this room, another head will roll and I don't care whose it is." Glaring at Mary, he continued under his breath, "I don't care that you are a queen or that you're going to marry my son one day. This is France, not Scotland, so as long as you are a guest in this castle you will stay out of my business or anybody else's in this family. Are we clear on this?" He growled. "You have no authority over anything that's going on in French court. And that includes any prisoners under suspicion of treason or ill-will towards the Queen of France."

Returning to his throne, the King rolled his head to relax his neck and fight the headache that was threatening to overwhelm him. As he looked up, he spotted his wife standing in a short distance, eyeing him with concern but also tears of gratitude or pain, he wasn't sure. If her heart beat as fast as his, probably both. "Now have the guards remove the corpse and gather everyone. I have an announcement to make," he added and held out his hand to welcome his wife on the throne right next to his.

As the Queen of France claimed her throne, the King took her hand in his in a tender caress. As the crowd gathered in front of them, awaiting the news their King was to deliver, he stood, gently pulling his Queen up to take her place beside him.

"You all know what day it is today," he started. "A day once dear to me, a beloved tradition." Looking into the faces of many hopeful servants, he went on without remorse, "A wrong I have decided to set right." Lifting up his wife's hand to brush his lips over her fingers, Henry smiled, then continued glaring at her instead of the crowd, "The Queen of the Bean is no more. There is but one Queen of France and none other shall ever take her place again from this day onward. That's what I pledge to you today, my Queen, with everybody in this room to bear witness if needed."


End file.
